


Felix culpa

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Cock Slapping, Cruelty and Kindness, Crying, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk About Feces, Disturbing Love Confessions, Double Anal Penetration, Drug Use, Essentially Ginger Fish is fucked, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Fear, Feels, Foot Fetish, Ginger Fish is so fucked, Guilt, Heterosexual Sex, John 5 is cute, John 5 plays guitar, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, Non-Linear Narrative, Offensive Dirty Talk, Poor Ginger Fish, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Shame, Smoking, Sorta Double Anal Penetration, Spanking, Spanking Of Various Body Parts, Still Very Homo, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Tim Skold is a frightening creature, Tim Skold is not a role model, disgust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: The guys go at it in Amsterdam.





	Felix culpa

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> This thing here is a sequel to all the previous Manson fics of mine, which you most likely will have to read to understand what is going on. But no pressure.
> 
> I am very ashamed it took me so long to finish this one, because real life separated me from literature, but I still tried to aspire to the style of a crazed writing binge the previous ones showcase so well.
> 
> This text is quite possibly the final part of this fucking novel of mine, at least for now, and I hope everybody who took this journey with me will find it soothing. I also want to additionally state here that these guys are going to live happily ever after and die on the same day of orgasm participating in a fucking orgy hell yeah.
> 
> The text is set some months after the disgusting road trip, let's say four or five or six. During those months Ginger leaves the band and joins one John is a member of, and then the two of them fuck off on a long tour together. So it is anachronistic to the events in lives of actual people these guys are very loosely based on.
> 
> The text is set in Amsterdam, where the guys go as a consequence of their disgusting road trip and where they spend several months as well, playing in bars and doing musical things in the studios, but mostly fucking. :D
> 
> There're two fixed points in the text: the first snippet "Warm welcome" and the last snippet "Farewell", both of them being exactly what it says in the title: the beginning and the end of the period. Everything else within the confines of those snippets has been randomly shuffled about to conceal the lack of coherent narrative and character development lol. I might reshuffle it again when I reread this thing. Essentially, you can read every snippet as a separate little story. Some of them are temporally and causally connected to the others, though, so if you are confused and need to know anything, drop me a line, I'll try to explain what is going on to you.
> 
> In this text I am referencing several later looks and styles of the real people these guys are very loosely based on, because I think it is fun, so it is anachronistic like that as well.
> 
> The story is mostly nice and fluffy, but certain snippets can cause you some moderate distress.  
> There are emotional issues, good old fuck ups, dirty talk that has gotten even more offensive, unsanitary sexual behaviour and some other new scary fucking things. Blame it all on Tim Skold and don't try it at home. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> English is not my native language. Please cause me some humiliation before I find my dumb mistakes myself after reading this shit for tenth time. Please.
> 
> Everyone here is fictional. Everyone here is their own person.

***  
Warm welcome  
***

 

"I am not amused," Tim says, standing in the doorway. "What the fuck happened to you two? What are you even supposed to be? Goth chickens? Space pirates?"

John takes off his hideous sunglasses. Ginger sways on his feet and sighs.

"Let us in," John says and tries to walk past him. "Don't fucking start again. We're tired. We don't want your fucking opinions. We want—"

"Food, to be fucked on your hands and knees and to suck my face, I know. Jesus. Alright. Come in, you furry motherfuckers."

The hairy pair gets in, and Tim jumps and shakes slightly when Ginger's shoulder touches his.

 

Then they sit on his couch next to each other, eating his magnificent, yet currently underappreciated dinner like a couple of really slow kindergarten children, but ones with elevated levels of testosterone. Tim sips his coffee, his head tilted away from them.

"That bad?" he asks.

"Fuck, yeah," Ginger says and rubs his face Tim cannot fucking look at. "I am not sure if I am dead or alive."

John drops his fork on the floor and curses.

"Well, at least you love pterodactyls had each other," Tim says. "You should've seen me a week ago. I was most definitely dead. And decomposing. Fucking Brian."

"You can always leave," John says and licks his fingers. Tim quickly turns his head away again. "You can be a traitor too."

"Yeah, no, I pledged my allegiance to that bastard. I'm going to stand by my word."

"Tim, can you give me a cigarette?" Ginger asks, and now Tim has to come close to him.

"Fuck," he says, shoving a cigarette in his hand and shivering. "I'm so not leaving. I don't want to end up like you. Fuck, seriously, what even is that?"

"Like those dead snakes on your head are any better," John says and starts taking off his jacket.

"At least they are useful," Tim says and lights up a cigarette too. "You can pull at them when you fuck me. These revolting things you ha—"

"Jesus," Ginger says and sips his green tea Tim made for him despite his appalling treachery. "We'll fucking shave. We'll shave them off tomorrow, alright? Fucking stop already."

"Yeah," John says, getting up and undoing his ridiculous belt. "Come on. Don't be an asshole. We haven't seen each other for two fucking months."

"Okay," Tim says and finally looks at the pair again. "Occupational hazard, I guess. So who wants to get fucked first?"

 

John moans obscenely when Tim pushes inside him.

"Ginj, you sure you want to wait?" Tim says with a grin. "John's loving my _angry_ cock here. You can just stand on all fours next to him and I'll fuck both your holes. You know, a minute here, then a minute there, then a minute here again. While you're thanking the gods for your good fortune."

John moans again and Ginger tells him to fuck off, clenching his fists. Tim chuckles and starts fucking John harder, pressing his head into the pillow and staring at his beautiful naked spine, struck by the sight as if he sees it for the first time in his life.

"Come on," Tim says and sucks two fingers into his mouth. "I'll rub your stale neglected filth. I know you weren't getting any of that with this whining idiot."

John moans, rocking his hips to meet him, and Ginger tells him to fuck off again.

"Okay," Tim says. "Do as you please. Suffer. Stupid stoical squid."

Tim grips John's body underneath him tight and bends, thrusting inside him, working his hips like a jackhammer, John's constant moaning a symphony to his ears and John's dumb anal obliteration talk he knows by heart the most inspiring part of it, feeling very much like a bloodthirsty shark chasing its prey and a nuclear warhead about to wipe out the city at the same time, sharing it with John too and mixing his metaphors.

John comes pressed into the bed with his chest and his face, Tim's hands holding his hips tight, comes hot and helpless, clenching around him for so long Tim thinks it might be longer than this truly endless period they spent apart. Tim releases him and sits up in a sharp motion, like burning radioactive lead that's been fired out of a gun, slaps himself across the face without counting, looking at John's battered body and straining the hand on his cock, baring his teeth.

Tim collapses on top of him once he comes, John gasping at the impact, and then some seconds later, when he is not deaf from the blast anymore, he hears muffled howling coming from the chair and isn't it another musical masterpiece entirely.

He lifts himself off John's corpse, chuckling with dark determination.

"What, virtue wasn't sufficient for happiness after all?" he says, closing the gap between the bed and the chair on unsteady feet, looking at Ginger's white hands pressed tight over his mouth. "Come on, give me your pitiful cock. And keep your fucking hands where they are, you repugnant yeti."

He pushes Ginger to sit up in the chair and puts his fingers around his miserable whining cock, jerking him off forcefully, looking at the flexing muscles of his thighs, trying really hard not to bite into them, feeling his mouth getting overrun by blood.

"Liked looking at that, didn't you, you shit?" he says, spreading Ginger's thighs with his other hand. "Want me to slam into your fucking filth too?"

Ginger shakes uncontrollably and Tim shoves his hand between his legs, rubbing his dry fingers into Ginger's hole, moving his deadly fist on Ginger's cock with a speed of a spacecraft escaping Earth's gravity.

Ginger comes convulsing with his whole body, incandescent and wailing, entirely stripped of both his dignity and his pale, translucent squid skin Tim knows how to cut into really well.

 

 _That saying just might be true_ , Tim thinks with a grin, towering over the mass grave that is his bed after he hauls up Ginger's remains to lie there being hugged by John's and lighting up a cigarette. _No place like home indeed._

He sleeps on the couch in another room, though, escaping the plumage on both their faces and still dreaming of it in his feverish nightmares.

 

In the morning Ginger enters the room and Tim looks at him, his head hanging upside down off the couch, a cigarette hanging off his lips, and smiles, seeing no sign of the fucking wool obscuring his stupid features he missed so much, and rolls off the couch that very second, demanding that Ginger come closer immediately, praising pubic hair over facial hair in such a colorful speech that it surprises even himself and then sucking his cock into his mouth, standing on his knees and rapturous, as if he's being knighted. And maybe he actually is.

Then a minute later John enters the room too and inquires in a voice that sounds positively offended why he wasn't invited to the party, so Tim lets go of his booty for a moment and asks John to come closer too and this time does make the freshly shaved pair stand next to one another, sucking both of them off, a minute here and then a minute there, John's hand pulling at the dead snakes on top of his head, guiding him, choking him on both their cocks until Ginger comes in his hungry trap, shaking like an epileptic, and until John himself comes in his still not sated trap, chanting his name and stuttering, even though it is just one syllable.

Then he beats off in front of them, still on his knees, John's hand still pulling at the dead snakes on top of his head, Tim's hand pulling his own appeased trap wide open, his blood covered teeth on display, crushing his cock between his fingers and coming helpless and stripped of all his defenses, Ginger still shaking like an epileptic and John now giggling, but in a faltering fashion as well.

 

A bit later, after the breakfast he serves them and his blissfull snout have been devoured, the former by both of them and the latter by Ginger, who is still shaking, they finally sit in front of his computer and buy the tickets, Tim showing them the houses he's been considering and the bars which would love to have them playing in there and the studios he himself is going to be pulling strings and turning knobs at for the next fourteen billion years all three of them are going to spend in the weed capital of the world.

 

***  
Love at first sight  
***

"Jesus, John, no," Tim says, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the shop. "You're not buying this stupid fucking hat."

John starts whining, so Tim has to shake him a bit and order him around a bit and then stuff his face with ice cream, because the first two things only work on him in bedroom.

"Fuck, I don't understand what your problem is," John says, pouting. "You have a hat. I saw you wearing it."

Tim eyes him with contempt.

"Yeah, my hat tells people I am open to any sexual advances and will take them on any propositions they might have in mind," he explains. "That hat you wanted tells people you're trying to remind them of three different fictional characters at the same time for no fucking reason. And one of those characters is from a goddamn cartoon."

"Fuck off," John says, laughing and pushing him off the bench.

"Seriously, I am not fucking happy with these recent changes in your style," Tim says, bending him and putting his weight into him. "That is a thin line you walk between looking like a pimp and looking like a primadonna. You've been tilting into pimp way too much recently. You need more feathers. Fewer vests. Fuck, you wear vests now."

"Let me go, you dumb shark," John says, and Tim removes his hands. "Okay. Fuck the hat. But then we're going shopping this weekend. You'll buy me something sexy. And we'll buy something sexy for Ginger."

"Sure," Tim says. "Garter stockings for you to showcase your amazing body and pants that are permanently open to showcase the only thing that can be sexy about Ginger."

John giggles, and they push each other a bit more.

"Okay," Tim says, getting up. "Come on. Enough of this sightseeing idiocy. Let's go and do something this city was actually meant for."

"I am not smoking your fucking weed," John protests, while Tim lifts him off the bench.

"You're eating my fucking weed," Tim says. "You'll love it. And anyway, we're going to watch Ginger play piano tonight. We have to be wasted to survive that."

 

John keeps fussing about until they are in the coffeeshop, but then Tim introduces the concept of space cake to him, and John falls in love with cannabis immediately, gorging on one baked good after another and indeed getting wasted.

When they finally get to the bar Ginger is playing at Tim thinks he should've shoved something into his own mouth as well, because the moment Ginger gets on stage John starts talking, commenting on everything, from the way Ginger looks and the way Ginger moves to the every detail of the music he produces, all of it, apparently, being hilarious somehow, and Tim only partly agrees with that assessment, since the music is fucking good.

But John keeps babbling about the notes Ginger is hitting and how amusing they are, wriggling next to Tim all the time, sticking his fingers everywhere and constantly laughing, cute, but really annoying.  
Tim briefly wonders if he should go and try to get his hands on some pills. He is too lazy to move, though, so instead he just focuses on Ginger's fucking jazz and tunes John's voice out.

Then John sits up and sighs.

"Ginger's fucking hot," he says and sucks his cocktail through a straw. "I spent like a whole year of my life fingering myself imagining it was him."

Tim coughs, choking on the smoke, surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation.

"Jesus," he says, collecting himself. "How long had you been lusting after each other before I finally made it happen?"

"Donno," John says and puts his head on Tim's shoulder. "Felt like forever."

"Fuck," Tim says and sniffs his hair. "This is really perplexing. I mean, I understand why _he_ didn't say anything to you. The only reason he's not a fucking virgin is that there're just so many people any given member of the band can fuck, whereas there's an almost infinite supply of fans who want to, so in the end the flow reaches the rhythm section as well."

John giggles and wraps his arms around him.

"But you're filthy," Tim continues, letting him. "You love cock. You flirt with everybody. What fucking stopped _you_?"

"Fuck," John says, voice whiny. "I thought he was straight."

Tim laughs.

"Yeah, up until your transsexual birhtday party, sure. How long had you guys known each other by that time? Four years?"

"Something like that, yeah," John says, sighing again.

"And not once during that time Ginger drank way too much and started sucking everybody's faces no matter what's in their pants, right."

John giggles again and tries to sit in Tim's lap.

"Okay, of course then I learnt he wasn't. But you know, I wasn't sure he liked me back... Wasn't sure he'd want me."

Tim snorts.

"Dude, have you seen yourself?" he asks, turning to look at John's beautiful wasted face. "Everybody wants you. I could be giving my best anal performance to a person and then if you popped into the room they'd be like "nope, sorry, Tim, we need that guy and need him now, bye".

John wriggles in his lap, producing an unprecedented amount of silly laughter.

"Fuck, I don't know," he says. "It was weird by then. We were fucking friends. He was asking me about my relatives. Helping me with filling forms I fucking hate dealing with. Checking my fucking car's engine. Calling me on Christmas."

"So?" Tim asks.

"So it is weird. How do you imagine hitting on a guy who knows your aunt's name?"

"Hm," Tim says, lifting John off himself. "Let me give you some instructions. In case you ever need to do that again."

John looks at him with his blurry space cake eyes.

"It is very easy," Tim explains. "Even a dumbass like you can do it. You make sure their face is turned in your direction, okay? And then you open your mouth and say "wanna fuck?" That's how you do it."

John laughs and starts pushing him with his magical hands.

"Yeah, right," he says, once their physical altercation is over. "So like one day I am telling him I got dumped by a girlfriend and the next day I offer him to finger me."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Tim says, smirking. "You're heartbroken and thus need some comradely butt sex. That should also work."

"Fuck off," John says and sticks his tongue out at him. "Go try that yourself... Go try that with Brian and I'll look at you."

Tim snorts.

"Brian?" he asks. "Brian is the easiest cock I can get. I don't even need to open my mouth with him. I can just take my pants off and spread my cheeks, and then in three seconds he'll be fucking my hole, telling me I am his little slut and asking me if I want him to come on my face."

"Fuck!" John yelps and jabs him with his fingers. "That's fucking disgusting. You fucking sound like you thought of it."

"Well..." Tim says, slapping his hand away. "You know, when nobody else wants me because my ass became too loose after all the fucking I've done with you two... Then I guess I could give it a go. I'd even get to wear a collar and call him Daddy. So..."

"Fuck, shut up," John says, trying to put his hands on his mouth. "I don't want this fucking image in my head."

Tim chuckles and drops the subject, both of them turning their attention to Ginger killing it on the piano, looking ridiculous.

 

When they return home, after John finishes telling Ginger how amazing he was, still silly and unable to stop laughing, and Ginger finishes admiring John's wasted state, Tim urges them to undress and get in bed. Tim sits in the chair, looking at them, a cigarette in his mouth, and urges them to tell each other everything about their long lasting period of mutual sexual frustration.

They do, John lying there on his back with his feet up in the air, giggling now and then, toes curling, Ginger sitting right beside him and fingering him, affection written all over his dumb face, and Tim listens to them, realizing they've talked about it before, laughing inwardly a little at himself after he does, because of course they've talked about it before. But they willingly do it again, going into incredible detail, first for Tim's benefit, then staring at each other's faces, forgetting about him entirely, John cracking up at odd times and moaning, Ginger with an open mouth and awe in his eyes, Tim just filling the room with smoke, silent invisible observer. Ginger bends and takes John's cock in his mouth after John says he's going to come and swallows him down, and then John tells him to come closer and let him do the same for him, Ginger following his instructions and following him into post-orgasmic bliss as well, both of them kissing and hugging afterwards, exchanging love confessions, Tim looking at them and thinking that for all the numerous horrible sins he commited he also had a hand in creating this beautiful, wondrous, heavenly thing, and even though it is definitely not enough to earn him forgiveness, it is more than enough to make him absolutely euphoric.

 

***  
Cravings  
***

 

"John?" Tim hears Ginger's voice coming from the upper floor. "Is that you?"

"Nope," Tim shouts, walking into the room and putting his bass guitar down. "Just me. That bastard's only gonna come home at seven. Well, he said seven, so it is gonna be eight, probably. What are you up to?"

"I'm just listening to some music. Really cool. Bought the album yesterday."

"Okay. I need to answer some letters. Enjoy," Tim shouts, turning on his computer and lighting up a cigarette.

Ginger comes down an hour later, producing some noise in the kitchen, then entering the room with his green tea and asking Tim if he wants to know about his trip.

"Yeah," Tim says over his shoulder. "Just not now. I mean, you're gonna babble about it to John when he comes back anyway. So..."

Ginger laughs softly.

"Okay," he says. "I'm gonna listen to the album again then. Really loving it."

"Sure. Go ahead. I'll cook dinner later. You can sit with me in the kitchen, play with the damn forks and everything."

"Fuck off," Ginger says and goes to lie on the couch.

 

Tim turns off his computer and looks at the watch.

"Hey, you hungry yet?" he asks, sitting on his heels in front of Ginger after pulling one of his earphones out.

"No, not really," Ginger says, looking up at him. "I am full of fucking herring."

Tim chuckles.

"Good. It is only five now. I'll start with the chopping before John comes back."

Ginger hums and smiles at him, licking his lips.

"What are you listening to in there?" Tim asks, grabbing the earphone he pulled out and putting it into his own ear.

They listen to the song together, Tim starting to bang his head after a few seconds, Ginger just staring at his face, his eyes moving up and down.

"Yeah, it is great," he says. "Stop with the silent begging, though. What do you want?"

Ginger pulls out both of the earphones and props himself on his elbows.

"I missed you," he says.

"Jesus," Tim says with a smirk. "You've only been away for three days."

Ginger shrugs awkwardly.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

Tim makes a face, wrinkling his nose and quirking his lips.

"Fuck you," Ginger says.

"How about we go to the bedroom instead and I make you come like a moron? We have at least an hour to kill. I've got some ideas."

 

"Here," Tim says, throwing the pillow at Ginger after they've knocked down three chairs and smashed two glasses running after each other. "Put it behind your back."

Ginger complies, still red and panting, but delightfully naked on the bed. Tim sits down next to him and touches his thighs.

"Bend your knees. Yeah, like that."

"Fuck," Ginger says. "What are you gonna do?"

"Mostly nothing. Conduct purely unscientific research. You, on the other hand, are gonna work your ass off for my visual entertainment," Tim says, smirking.

Ginger groans.

"Wanna see how fast you can get hard," Tim says. “I am not sure I've ever witnessed the whole process. It's like I turn away for one second and then when I turn back your cock is already on guard."

“Fuck you,” Ginger says.

“Come on,” Tim says. “Touch something. Touch your ridiculous nipples. I’m gonna watch.”

Ginger sits there looking at him for several seconds, not moving, then sighs and puts his hands on his chest.

“How?” he asks.

Tim shrugs.

“Don’t care. The way you want to.”

Ginger swallows hard and starts brushing his fingers over his nipples, slowly, drawing semi circles.

“Cute,” Tim says. “That how you like it?”

“Fuck off,” Ginger says, closing his eyes, inhaling and then rubbing his nipples between his fingers.

Tim sees his cock twitching, and the countdown in his chest starts immediately.

Ginger keeps moving his fingers for about a minute, alternating between gentle touching and some light pulling, his breathing becoming audible pretty soon, his cock getting hard as well.

“Jesus,” Tim says, not knowing what to actually look at. “You’re a unique fucking specimen, Ginger.”

“Fuck you,” Ginger says, opening his eyes. “I know you’re staring at me. What do you even expect?”

Tim chuckles.

“Don’t stop,” he says. “Looks fucking great. I love it when torture is self-inflicted. Clean hands, clean conscience, you know.”

Ginger doesn’t stop. Ginger moans, his eyes closing again.

Tim feels his mouth go dry. He clenches his fists a couple of times, moving his eyes up and down Ginger’s body in front of him. He runs his finger over Ginger’s left foot, Ginger shivering and opening his eyes that very instant.

“Fuck, Tim,” he says. “Stop that.”

Tim smiles.

“Damn,” he says, lifting his hand and brushing the underside of Ginger’s cock standing there up in the air on display. “How fucking easy are you?”

Ginger tries kicking him, his cock swaying with the motion.

“Hey, that’s cool,” Tim says and pokes it with his finger, grabbing Ginger’s knee tight. “Cockquake.”

Ginger laughs, cursing him simulatenously. Tim chuckles too.

“You’re hot. Fuck, Ginger, you’re fucking hot. Don’t stop with the nipples. I am having massive fun here.”

“Fuck,” Ginger says and puts his hands back on his chest. “Okay. Alright. Whatever.”

“And don’t close your eyes,” Tim instructs him.

“Jesus,” he says a minute later, staring at Ginger twisting his nipples hard and gasping, feeling genuinely amazed. “I do seem to inspire masochistic weirdness in you.”

“Fuck you,” Ginger spits out, but doesn’t stop. “Fuck. I wanna come.”

Tim pats his thighs searching for smokes, but finds his pockets empty.

“Wait,” he says and Ginger groans. “I need a fucking cigarette. Fuck, you’re a kinky motherfucker.”

He gets up quickly, looking around the room, then walks to the stand by the window and grabs the package lying there. Then he sees the lube on the lower shelf. Then he gets ideas.

"Don't move," he says, shoving the cigarette into his mouth. "No premature fucking ejaculation. We're sticking a plug up your ass."

He walks out of the room hearing Ginger shouting insults at him and chuckling. Luckily, locating the thing doesn't take much time, because Tim knows to look for it in John's make up stash, that place being a traditional spot for butt plugs, even though the plug itself is the new one they bought in here.

Tim gets momentarily distracted by the memories of that day, but then promptly goes down the stairs.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he says, sitting next to Ginger again. "Gonna make it up to you now. Gonna participate in making you undone."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, looking at the plug in Tim's hand Tim holds up for him to see.

"Hook your arms under your knees," Tim says, opening the lube. "Nice. Fuck. You're so getting ruined."

He pours the lube on Ginger's hole, Ginger wincing and whining, telling him it's fucking cold, Tim shrugging and starting to rub the plug into him.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, shivering, his toes curling in the air. "Can you at least put your finger in first?"

"Shut up," Tim says, pushing the thing inside. "It's gonna get in. Not to worry. Just don't fucking clench. Shit talk?"

Ginger moans, the sound doing nothing to help Tim with his task.

"It's alright," Ginger says, voice coming out breathy. "I think. Fuck, I am really fucked up in the head."

Tim laughs softly and kisses Ginger's calf.

"Relax," he says, looking at Ginger's hole giving in and touching his teeth with his tongue. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're fine. But I promise you you are not staying fine for long. You're losing your mind pretty soon."

"Thank you," Ginger says and then shudders. "Fuck. Can you... Can you fuck me a bit?"

Tim obliges, pushing the plug in and out.

"A bit," he says, smirking. "That's a very sensible request. I'm so glad we have mutual understanding here."

"Fuck off," Ginger says. "I fucking know you're not gonna let me come that easily."

"Okay," Tim says after thirty seconds or so. "I've done my fair share. Put your legs down. Let's get back to nipple torture. I'm really wondering how far you can take it."

Ginger awards him with a mild seizure after that, Tim watching him, his chest tight, plutonium shimmering inside it, releasing energy, Tim wondering what he can do to pay Ginger back for this, relishing the taste of blood filling his mouth.

"Wow," he says a couple of minutes later, staring at Ginger turning into a steaming pile of squirming squid with the speed of light, moving his hips helplessly, trying to fuck himself on the plug and failing miserably, taking the nipple torture to some really, really distant and exotic places. "Fucking hell. Can you come like that?"

"Fuck," Ginger says, biting his lips. "Now you're fucking asking. I can fucking die like that."

"Don't whine," Tim says, biting his. "Just think how fucking stiff I am. This is crazy. I'm fucking stunned here. Flabbergasted. Thunderstruck."

Ginger moans and shakes pathetically.

"Fucking stop with the words," he says, voice breaking. "Just do something. Tim. I wanna come."

"Okay," Tim says. "Alright. But we're doing this again. Fuck, I love you squirming like this."

"Fuck, Tim. Tim. I fucking can't anymore."

"What do you want?" Tim asks.

"I don't know. Something. Anything. Just let me fucking come."

"Fuck," Tim says, clenching his fists. "There're too many things on the menu."

"Shit," Ginger says. "I'm gonna cry. I'm gonna fucking cry now."

"Really?" Tim asks, looking at his shattering face. "Don't get my hopes up if you don't mean it."

"Fuck you," Ginger says, twisting his nipples and indeed starting to sob.

Tim smiles.

"Well, now I am happy," he says, bending, face hovering over Ginger's cock. "Come on. Give it to me."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ginger says, stammering. "Tim. Fuck, Tim."

Tim licks at the tip of his cock, moving his tongue delicately, deliberately slow, not pressing into it.

That is still enough.

That is more than enough.

Ginger comes with a wail, shuddering, his legs falling open, the muscles of his abdomen flexing, Tim mouthing at his cock, grinning blissfully, a devastating disaster happening in his chest.

He falls next to Ginger a bit later and pulls Ginger's hands off his wet face, proceeding to prop himself on one elbow and wrap his other arm around Ginger's broken body.

"Now you can kiss me," he says, looking down at him. "Or do you need my help with that too?"

"Fuck you," Ginger says, staring at his smug smirking snout. "Yes."

Tim licks his open mouth for as long as he can without exploding.

"Okay," he says, pulling away. "I really need to check on my cock now. I feel like the Antarctic ice shield has melted in my pants."

He quickly sits up and unzips his pants, taking his deserted cock out, shuddering at the touch.

"Tim," Ginger says. "Come... come in my mouth."

"Fuck," Tim says, accepting the offer right away and moving closer. "Shut up. What even are you? Fucking sex miracle. Fucking wet dream. Masturbatory fucking aid."

He wraps his hand around his cock, gripping it tight, pushing Ginger's head up with his other hand, Ginger's soft, warm lips around the tip, his breath wet on his skin, Tim coming in a matter of seconds, dense hot mass rising in his chest and tearing him apart.

"Fuck dinner," Tim says, falling like a gutted shark next to Ginger. "John can eat us both when he comes back. We're fucking served."

 

***  
Shooting arrows  
***

"Can anybody give me a helping fucking hand here?" Tim yells, opening the front door with his boot and trying to get in without dropping John's gift.

 

Apparently, nobody can, so he carries the crossbow and the target into the room himself, the two bastards who potentially could sitting there on the couch, holding the said hands together, both in earphones, listening to fucking jazz.

Tim throws his booty on the floor, drawing their attention.

John jumps and claps his hands when he sees it.

Ginger sighs, but not very expressively.

 

"Okay, you whiny jerk, we can commence," Tim says after the target has been placed on the empty wall by his unsteady hand still covered in traces of what he's been shoving in his mouth the previous night at the club. "Let's shoot the damn arrows."

"Wait," John says. "I want us to keep score."

"Okay," Tim says. "Ginj, get us a piece of paper and a pencil, alright?"

"Sure," Ginger says, getting up.

"And I want there to be prizes."

"Hm..." Tim says, grabbing Ginger and stopping him from leaving. "What kind of prizes are we talking about?"

John giggles. Ginger tries to get away.

"I see," Tim says. "Ginger, stay where you are. We don't need pencils. You know how to count really well."

"Fuck you," Ginger says.

John giggles again.

"So?" he asks.

"Hm," Tim says. "Well, let's say that the prize is a proper sandwich we engage in. Like with both the entrance and the exit fucked really hard. How does that sound?"

"That sounds cool," John says with a coy smile Tim is not fucking sure how he manages to still pull off being so filthy inside.

"I am out of here," Ginger says with fear on his face Tim is sure he'll never ever stop feeling, and isn't it a prize of its own.

"Stand still," Tim says, gripping his shoulder tight. "So the sandwich is the trophy and the winner gets to have it first. Then of course we'll just have to award it to the number two and three as well. Camaraderie, you know."

"Alright," John says. "Ginj, come on. It's gonna be fun."

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Like I have any say here."

 

The resulting score Ginger keeps turns out not to be the one Tim anticipated.

"Fuck, Fortuna has abandoned me," he exclaims after threatening Ginger with all sorts of torture, demanding he double-check the numbers. "I am a fucking disgrace."

John giggles.

"Maybe you should stop taking so much dope," he suggests, patting his cheek.

"God, no, not after this. After this I have to completely destroy myself with drugs," Tim says, pushing his hand away. "Fuck, I mean, I can understand you being ahead of me. You beautiful fucking elf. You and your celestial fucking hands. You and your disingenuous opposition to violence. But squid?"

"You're fucking wasted," John says. "But anyway, it is too late now."

"I don't mind switching places with you," Ginger tries.

Tim laughs like a maniac, falling onto the floor where he belongs for bringing such shame on himself.

 

The allocation of prizes also doesn't go as was originally planned.

 

They play by the rules with John. He gets properly roasted from both ends, Ginger fucking him from behind and Tim shoving his cock in his mouth and gagging him, John on his hands and knees between them, pushing back to meet Ginger's cock because that pathetic fucker needs encouragement, coming with an obscene moan reverberating around Tim's cock, Ginger following him right there and then because in matters of orgasming fucking encouragement is superfluous for him, Tim hurriedly slapping himself across the face with the speed of bullets escaping a machine gun, drawing a somewhat lesser amount of blood than the said gun would and coming into John's throat fucked raw.

Then John gets to be the filling for a while longer, both Tim and Ginger hugging his dead body which is floating happily in the sky, running their palms over his beautiful naked spine, Tim thinking maybe the winner was also the prize, Ginger just an embodiment of profound love and a pile of goo.

 

There are complications when it comes to roasting Ginger. And the first portion of them is not really unexpected. They put Ginger on his hands and knees as well, John getting to fuck him from behind, because Tim figures he wouldn't be able to do anything remotely resembling actual pounding to his mouth, whereas his hole provides a lot of incentive to do just that. John gets overly excited by this new development, his hands never leaving Ginger's curved back, his mouth overrun by sugar he keeps spitting out, making it somewhat hard for Tim to squeeze in the much needed shit talk. Thus complications occur. But then Tim manages to behave like enough of a monster and make Ginger enough of a squirming jelly, Ginger even starting to push his hips back to meet John's cock. Then Tim gets into his position ready to stuff Ginger's wide open mouth and fucks it all up, first getting distracted by his soft warm lips, then getting reminded of things long past by his own enquiries he addresses to Ginger that seem somehow familiar to him, then rolling with his feelings of nostalgia and giving Ginger instructions to suck his fingers in order he tells him to before he can get his cock, Ginger failing magnificently and getting slapped with Tim's machine gun of a hand until he comes crying out loud, tears running down his face, John following him right there and then even though that might not be exactly what he wants to do at the moment.

Luckily, Tim doesn't get throttled. Instead John tells him to stand on his knees in front of them and slap himself as many times as he did Ginger, which is possible due to Ginger's obsession with fucking math and which Tim does, jerking himself off with his other hand, sure he is going to come like that leaving the sandwich underprepared, but no, he doesn't, he comes in Ginger's mouth, getting up in one sharp motion and shoving his cock between Ginger's parted lips, exactly because Ginger fucking parts them and then fucking licks them as well.

John kicks him out of the bed after that, so Tim gradually falls asleep on the floor where he belongs, while Ginger and John do their whispery thing, kissing and cuddling.

 

His own prize is almost snatched away from him, because, first, John is still pissed off about the spectacle he created with Ginger, and, second, John is still upset by the recent disappearance of dead snakes he could pull at off Tim's head, expressing his disapprovement in really insolent terms and saying he doesn't want to fuck him anymore.

Tim thinks he cannot live with that. Tim thinks really hard and comes up with a fucked up solution. He gets fucked on his back by Ginger with John towering above his head, John's cock stuffed down his throat in a really worrisome fashion, in a fashion that is so worrisome indeed, that Tim feels compelled to ask John to be careful - careful! - after Ginger's cock gets inside his ass, explaining that he doesn't actually mind dying like this, choking on his own vomit because John was cruel enough to keep going despite everything, clenching around Ginger and giving him the best orgasm of his life, but not in this fucking country with no deserts where his horrible body can be disposed of. He explains all of that and wonders if he fucked everything up again, the moaning bastards turning into white-faced ones, reminded of certain things long past and not happy to experience those nostalgic feelings, but then he is forgiven, his rear exit is fucked by Ginger in an abhorrently tender manner, his front entrance is fucked by John efficiently and with certain cruelty, Tim a happy shark on a roasting skewer between them, his hand torturing his own cock for John's entertainment and also to inspire some horror in Ginger who cannot fucking shut up about Tim being loved and beautiful. Tim fully expects to come like this, but then Ginger fucks it up. Not that Tim actually minds, because what Ginger does is gets overwhelmed by his fucking feelings or temporarily goes insane or falls under the influence of pagan fucking gods who still are not satisfied with the shows Tim's been providing them with for three fucking years. What Ginger does is bends over and starts licking Tim's mouth with John's cock in it and John's cock as well, Tim's plutonium imploding that very instant, Tim's hole clenching tight around Ginger, Tim coming boiling hot and Ginger doing the same, John yelling they are sick fucks and coming as well.

The only thing Tim minds in the end is that he has to spit out some of John's shocked junk, coughing and retching on the bed, because John doesn't have time to do a single thing before he comes, much less actually become suddenly careful, and Tim is not happy that such good product goes to waste.

 

All in all he thinks that John's whining he had to suffer through for three days before going and buying the fucking crossbow he overnight developed a longing for yielded some worthwhile results.

He throws the crossbow away, though, and from that day on they have sandwiches without being competitive fucks about it.

 

***  
Broadening one's horizons  
***

Tim wakes up feeling Ginger's morning erection pressed into his thigh. Tim doesn't have anywhere to be for the first time after their arrival.

Warm radioactive bubbles form in his chest. A bloodthirsty grin full of teeth forms on his face. Verbose panegyrics to the pagan gods form in his mind.

He sits up, lighting up two cigarettes for both of them, pressing his shoulders into the back of the bed and guiding Ginger's plasma of a body to straddle his thighs backwards, running his hand over his impossible vertebrae and then further down, between his cheeks.

"Okay, squid," he says, puffing out the smoke. "I've waited long enough. I've shown inconceivable patience."

Ginger shivers at the touch and Tim presses his other hand on his lower back, making him arch it slightly.

"I am so getting reacquainted with your diarrhea repository right now," Tim says, removing the hand from Ginger's hole and grabbing the lube he's strategically planted on every hard surface around the house off the nightstand. "Spread your cheeks. You're gonna fuck your shit on my cock and I'm gonna watch. Gonna admire the fucking scenery."

 _Just like riding a bicycle_ , Tim thinks, smirking, looking at goosebumps forming on Ginger's scared, agitated back in front of him. _You never really forget how to._

 

"Fuck, you're tight," Tim says a few minutes and some pathetic shivering later, looking at his cock gradually disappearing in Ginger's hole, his cheeks pulled wide apart by his white sweaty fingers. "We should never again abandon your dirthole for so long. We should work on your pitiful abilities to take John's cock. We should start you on a morning self-penetration routine. Your disgusting crap should be fucked every fucking day."

"Oh my fucking God," Ginger says, moaning at the same time, falling awkwardly on Tim's cock to the very root, shuddering, soaking wet, hair stuck to his shaking shoulders. "Tim. Fuck, Tim."

Tim chuckles, feeling the blood running out of his mouth down his chin, down his neck, down his chest.

"Yeah, I missed you too," he says. "Come on. Fuck yourself. Come on my cock. Let's fucking drown in your stinking filth."

 

A few minutes and substancially more pathetic shivering later Tim grits his teeth, feeling like a particularly ravenous fireball of nuclear gas, looking at Ginger doing exactly what he said, doing it ridiculously, stumbling, cursing, chanting his name, a sobbing quality to his breaking voice, melting and steaming in front of him, tight and slick and so fucking welcome on his cock.

He grabs at Ginger's sweaty hair, yanking his head back, making him curve his miserable whining spine even more, making him push his hips back like a convulsing idiot. He drops his other hand and touches Ginger's stretched pulsing hole, rubbing his fingers in, brushing against his own cock.

"Fucking hell, Ginger," he says. "I want to fucking swallow you whole."

He lifts his hand and shoves the fingers into his hungry trap.

"Fuck," Ginger says, panting, voice scared. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Tim snarls and repeats the motion again.

"You're my fucking breakfast, Ginger," he says, pulling the fingers out of his mouth and trying to push them into Ginger's hole again. "I'm eating your fresh morning filth."

Tim holds Ginger in place by his hair and grips his hips tight with his other hand while he has his pitiful fucking seizure, squirming on his cock, moaning out his stuttering lament.

"Gonna come," he says, and Tim hears tears in his voice. "Oh my God, Tim. Don't let me go. Gonna come."

"Yeah," Tim says. "Just let me give you more incentive first. Just let me dive deeper into your watery fucking shit."

He quickly shoves his fingers into his mouth and then pushes them into Ginger again, harder this time, without any mercy, effective and ruthless and succeeding, Ginger's tight hole giving in and Ginger's puny body giving up.

"Oh my God," he says, crying out, moving his shaking hips, his back arching, Tim pulling at his hair. "I love you. Fuck, gonna come. Tim. Tim. Don't let me go. I fucking love you."

He comes, clenching around Tim's cock and around two of his fingers pressed into him, hot and messy and completely undone.

"No, no, no, you shit," Tim says, when he starts collapsing after his orgasm is over. "I'm not finished with you. I'm not done with my breakfast just yet."

He grabs Ginger's hips and yanks him up, Ginger's wet face pressing into his knees, hair a mess, his body just helpless boiling plasma on top of him.

"Gonna lick you," Tim says. "Stand on your elbows. Gonna eat you out. Gonna jerk off to you being squid shit on toast. Look at my cock. Look at me doing that."

Ginger shakes violently several times and then props himself on his elbows, his ass in the air, his stretched hole right in front of Tim's bloodthirsty snout, his head hanging low between his shoulders.

Tim falls between his cheeks, shoving his tongue deep inside him and slapping his cock as hard as he can.

 _Capital fucking punishment_ , he thinks, listening to Ginger's sobbing. _Last fucking abode._

He comes in his own fist, licking Ginger's boiling hole, hot, messy and completely torn apart.

 

"Wanna smoke?" Tim says a few minutes and some grueling tomb raiding later, running his fingers down Ginger's spine, looking at his shattered body curled up next to him, Ginger's head on his thigh.

"Yeah," Ginger says. "Fuck, yes."

Tim smiles and lights up a cigarette.

"Here," he says, bending over and shoving it between Ginger's soft parted lips. "Sorry, squid. I really surpassed myself today."

Ginger laughs softly.

They smoke for a while, Ginger with his back turned to him, his head on his thigh, Tim pressed into the back of the bed with his blood covered shoulders.

"I uh..." Ginger says, sighing. "What you did with your fingers..."

"Yeah?" Tim asks, lifting his hair and looking at his neck.

"When you put them inside me..."

"Yeah?" Tim asks again, scraping his scalp. "Liked that?"

Ginger shivers.

"Fuck," he says, and Tim sees the smoke rising over his head. "Yes."

Tim chuckles.

"Well, good to know my efforts were not in vain," he says, releasing Ginger's hair and touching his back again.

"I uh..." Ginger says. "I did it to John... You know, on tour. He asked me."

"Fucking John," Tim says. "Greedy bastard."

"He said he missed us fucking him together," Ginger continues, and his voice breaks a little.

Tim takes a drag.

"Is this just an oral exercise in reciting erotica you're performing here or are you trying to ask something of me?" he says, a criminally toothy smirk forming on his lips.

Ginger shivers again.

"Fuck," he says. "I uh..."

"You want the two of us to fuck your crappy hole at the same time," Tim says, writing  _frosseri_ on his back. "You want me to stick my heartless fingers into your pathetic orifice alongside my cock and stretch you for John to join me."

Ginger coughs, shaking violently.

"Don't drop the fucking cigarette," Tim says, chuckling.

"Fuck off," Ginger says and shivers again. "I uh... Fuck, yes. I wanna try. Fucking hell."

"Alright," Tim says and puts his cigarette out. "We can try. I mean, we're probably gonna fail, because that thing requires finesse and you're the most awkward fuck I've ever seen in my life..."

"Fuck you," Ginger says and makes the move to sit up. "I am fucking serious."

"Yeah, me too," Tim says, pulling him up and dragging him closer. "Come here. Don't pout. Say you love me and suck my face."

"Better?" Tim says after Ginger curses him again and then says he loves him and sucks his face for a fucking eternity. "We'll try. No promises, though. But I am sure we'll be properly entertained in the process."

Ginger laughs at that, his drying shoulders shaking under Tim's hands.

"Come on, let's get up," Tim says, nudging him off. "I need some coffee to wash down your shit. I'll make you that French salad with poached eggs you cannot shut up about, okay?"

He gets up and grabs his pants off the chair.

"Tim," Ginger says, sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor.

"Yeah?" Tim asks, turning around and zipping his pants.

"Can we tell John, though? From the start, you know," Ginger says, looking up at him with that Mona Lisa face of his.

"Sure," Tim says and walks across the room.

"JOHN!" he shouts, opening the door, the morning bluegrass they've been suffering through from the very first minutes of pathetic shivering coming down the stairs, filling the room and then stopping momentarily.

"WHAT? I AM PLAYING."

"I'VE GOT NEWS!" Tim shouts again. "WE'RE STARTING AN EXPANSION PROJECT WITH GINJ! HE WANTS HIS SHIT DOUBLE PENETRATED!"

There is a loud thud he hears a second later coming from the upper floor and a loud 'fucking hell' coming from inside the room.

 _Synchronicity_ , he thinks. _Very important when playing music._

 

 

*Frosseri - gluttony.

 

 

***  
Dark matters  
***

 

"Tim, can I come in? I need to talk to you," Tim hears John's voice behind the door.

He wipes off the sand from his eyes and turns to his side.

"Yeah."

The room is momentarily filled with dim light, John's dark figure framed by it, and then he gets in and shuts the door behind him.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm playing tonight," John says, not trying to come closer, maybe a minute later. "And after that I promised some people to party with them. So I probably won't be back till the morning. Is this okay? You're not gonna... you know..."

"No," Tim says, an unpleasant taste of mold on his tongue. "Don't worry. I'll just stay here till you're back."

There is a pause after that.

"Fuck," John says. "Do you need anything? Are you even eating? This is fucking weird."

"I've got peanuts and plenty of things that are gonna ruin my internal organs," Tim says. "I'll fucking survive."

There is another pause after that.

Then John comes closer and sits beside him on the floor.

"Why don't you just come out now?" he asks. "This is fucking him up. This is fucking both of us up."

"Sorry, but no," Tim says and clenches his fists.

"Fuck, I don't understand what your problem is," John says, voice frustrated. "Everything is fine."

"The problem is guilt and shame for my fuck ups I don't want to feel resulting in shifting the blame on him that in turn resulting in more guilt and shame," Tim explains readily. "I'm at stage three now, if you are wondering."

"But everything is fine," John insists. "You didn't do anything this time."

Tim lets out a gloomy chuckle.

"Well, I've got reminded of a couple of things," he says. "You do remember why we are even here, right?"

"Fuck, Tim," John says and finds his hand. "Come on. That was ages ago."

Tim chuckles again and holds his fingers in his own. He spits some dry leaves out of his mouth and opens it again.

"He never told you what I said, did he?" he asks.

"I uh... Donno. He said you told him you didn't want to see him again. Something like that," John says, sighing.

"Ah," Tim says with a painful smile on his dry lips. "Well, I said a bit more than that. Which was still just the tip of the shit iceberg I had in my head at the time."

"Tim."

"If he told you you wouldn't be so fucking forgiving now, trust me. You'd throw me out of the fucking window. Despite the fact there isn't one here."

"Jesus," John says and grips his hand tighter. "Okay. Maybe. But it is not like this shit now makes anybody happy either. He is a fucking wreck. He fucking loves you."

Tim chuckles once more.

"Well, maybe he shouldn't."

John slaps his hand.

"Fuck you," he says. "Maybe you should love him back."

Tim shivers and sits up upon hearing that.

"What?" he asks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he loves you and you don't," John says. "That's why all of this is fucked up."

"What?" Tim asks again, trying to supress his anger. "Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I fucking love him."

"Then why don't you tell him?" John says.

"Fuck," Tim says. "I did. That's not the issue here."

"No, you didn't," John insists. "You only talk about that nuclear bullshit of yours I don't fucking understand."

"Ginger does," Tim says. "He's smarter than he looks. You're dumb."

John laughs softly at that, and Tim spits more of the dust out of his mouth, the cold hole in his chest contracting.

"That's still weird," John says. "Why do you need to put it like that? Just say the fucking words."

Tim takes his hand in his own and touches his fingers.

"Because my profound love for him is just a pinky and the whole volume of my feelings is actually the size of his motherfucking cock."

John laughs and they hug.

"Fuck, whatever," he says. "I still think you should just tell him."

Tim shrugs.

"I'll think about it. It's not the fucking issue."

"What is then?"

"Me being a massive asshole and blaming him for things that are entirely my own creation?" Tim offers. "Something like that. Sorry, I am not going to explain what I actually mean to you. I am fucking selfish. I still want you around. Even with all your cheesy love talk."

"Fuck off," John says. "Okay. Do what you think is right. Just do it fucking faster and come out of here already. You fucking stink. We miss you."

"I'll try," Tim says.

"And don't do anything dumb while I am gone," John says, getting up. "Please."

"I won't."

John goes out of the room after that, leaving Tim to lie on the floor in the dark, choking on feathers, a cold, slick, creeping thing coiling inside his chest.

 

He gets up hours later, when he feels he's about to faint if he doesn't eat something now.

He exits the room and makes his way to the kitchen, stopping for a minute near the couch, looking at Ginger passed out on it, his face in a book.

He quickly drinks several glasses of cold water and shoves sausages and bread into his mouth.

"Tim?" he hears Ginger's sleepy voice cutting through the silence of the house and jumps, startled. "Is it you in there?"

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks and wipes his hand over his pants.

"Yeah," he shouts. "Sorry I woke you up. Don't get up."

He rubs the back of his neck, pours more water into the glass and walks into the room to face Ginger.

"Wanna drink?" he asks, towering above him.

"Yeah," Ginger says, sitting up and taking the glass from him, blankets sliding off his body.

Tim takes the glass back from him and stands there, watching Ginger fumble around looking for smokes and then finally lighting one up.

He takes several drags and looks up at him.

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks.

"Fuck," he says. "Okay. Come on. Move. I'll sit with you."

Ginger shifts a little and Tim lands next to him, shocked by the temperature of the whole area. He lights up a cigarette too and they smoke.

Ginger puts his out and sighs.

Tim does the same and rubs his face. Then he swings his numb arm around Ginger's shoulder.

"Okay," he says, pulling him closer. "John thinks I should tell you all about my fucking feels for you and that's gonna make everything peachy."

Ginger shivers and laughs softly.

"Yeah, he's just a very filthy high school emo kid," Tim says. "Anyway, I decided I'd give it a try."

"That's not necessary," Ginger says, pressing into him. "I mean, you've told me before. It's not a problem. I just want you to come out of there."

"I will," Tim says, hugging him tighter. "But later. Now I will describe my inner turmoil to you, okay? Give you the full extent. If you're not too sleepy."

Ginger shakes his head.

"Okay then," Tim says and exhales. "I love you. I love hurting you and breaking you, I love getting inside your mind and pulling everything you might've wanted to hide out of there and sticking my heartless fingers in those things too and crushing them. I love it that you let me do all of it. I love it that you would do even more if I asked. I love it that you not only let me do it, but also look at me as if I am fucking God himself when I am doing that. As if I am the best thing that's ever happened to you. As if you still cannot believe I could possibly be interested in having anything to do with you."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says and shivers in his arms.

"Yeah, I am really fucking selfish. I love being worshipped. I don't want to ever let you go. I _won't_ ever let you go. If you fucking try to get away I'll just crawl inside you with my heartless fingers again and find some new ways to keep you where I want you. I'll fucking eat you. I'll chew you and swallow you and spit you out and chew you again. And you know what the best part is? You're gonna be happy about it. You're gonna idolize me even more. I fucking love that. Like I can do no wrong. Like I am the ruler of the fucking world."

"Fucking hell, Tim," Ginger says and shivers again.

"Yeah, I know. I love it that I was just pissed off and bored when I first touched you, I did it on a whim and you surrendered that very second and haven't been able to do anything to help yourself ever since. That you're so completely in love with me nothing can change it. That you're gonna deify me no matter what. That nuclear bomb thing I told you about? I fucking love it that I am exactly that and you're just a city about to be destroyed, scared and panicking, yet still somehow not willing to run away. Waiting for it to happen. Anticipating. Begging for it internally. I love that. I love you. I love you exactly like that," Tim finishes, touching his teeth with his tongue, feeling Ginger's hot sweaty body shaking next to his.

There is a pause after that.

"I need a fucking cigarette," Ginger finally manages.

Tim pulls out two and lights them up.

They smoke, sitting on the couch, pressed into each other, Tim starting to melt gradually, flames running over Ginger's skin jumping onto his own.

"Fuck, this is crazy," Ginger says, putting out his cigarette. "I'm fucking hard."

Tim chuckles after that, and Ginger does too.

"Come on," Tim says, throwing the cigarette butt into the ashtray as well. "Let me do something for you. I'll be nice."

Ginger shifts a little.

"And you?" he asks.

Tim chuckles again.

"I'm half dead," he says. "I haven't fucking eaten in three days. You're hot as fuck and I love torturing you just like I said, don't get me wrong. But I am ruined. Nothing in my pants is getting up today. You can still pound my ass if you want to, though."

"Jesus," Ginger says and shivers. "No. That's fucked up. You're insane."

"Obviously."

"Just hold me, okay? Just do whatever you want."

Tim takes his sweater off him after that, and they both shift, Ginger landing on Tim's chest with his back, Tim wrapping his arms around him.

He moves his hair to the side and licks his neck. He runs his palms over his shoulders.

"I really would fucking eat you if you could survive that," Tim says. "And if it wasn't a criminal offence, you know."

"Fuck off," Ginger says, voice breathy. "Do something already."

"I am," Tim says, his hands sliding down his body. "I am just being nice this time."

Ginger laughs softly and then moans, when Tim's fingers brush against his nipples.

"Like that?" Tim asks, doing it again, deliberately this time.

"Fuck," Ginger says, sliding down gradually, his head falling onto Tim's shoulder. "The fuck are you even asking?"

Tim doesn't say anything, his hands travelling over Ginger's body, over his chest, his arms, fingers tracing the veins, rubbing his shoulders, touching the clavicles. Ginger shivers and Tim puts his hands on his nipples again, trying to do it as delicately as he can.

"Fuck," Ginger says.

"Want me to do this a bit longer? Or should I jerk you off now?" Tim asks, breathing into his hair.

Ginger moans.

"Just fucking hold me," he says. "Fuck, Tim."

"Okay," Tim says, swallowing hard.

He runs his fingers over Ginger's body some more and then wraps his hand around his cock, moving it gently, without squeezing much.

"How do you want it?" he asks. "Spit or no spit?"

"Fuck," Ginger says with a moan. "I don't care. Tim."

"Okay," Tim says, speeding up a little, the skin under his fingers soft and tender. "Don't wanna hurt you. Want you to like it."

Ginger moans, arching, pressing his head into Tim's shoulder.

"God, Tim," he says, panting. "Gonna come. Hold me."

Tim puts his arm around him, moving his hand on his cock.

"Of course," he says. "Come on. Don't worry. I'm not gonna let you go."

Ginger comes brief seconds later, jerking his hips up, pushing into Tim's hand, wailing quietly, then relaxing, body going soft and liquid and so hot in Tim's arms, his breathing heavy and wet.

"Thank you," Ginger says, his voice breaking. "I love you."

Tim hugs him tighter.

"Wanna kiss?" he asks.

"Yeah," Ginger says, and he pulls him up and licks into his soft warm mouth for fourteen billion years, Ginger's moans blowing away the moldy, dusty dry leaves that've been stuck in his throat.

"Are you gonna go back to that room?" Ginger asks after they part.

"Yeah," Tim says. "Sorry. Need more time to consider my shitty behaviour."

Ginger shifts, sitting up.

"Can I come with you?"

Tim thinks about it for a few seconds after he understands it wasn't an auditory hallucination.

"Fuck, Ginj," he says. "Okay. Alright."

 

Ginger falls asleep curled around him, hot and naked, after five minutes, and Tim spends several hours listening to his heartbeat in the darkness, the coiling thing inside his chest gradually slipping away, the black hole in his mind filling with dreams.

He wakes up feeling a shining creature made of light kissing his forehead.

Then it giggles, and he knows his self-imposed exile is finally over.

 

***  
Subconscious  
***

"Let the trial begin!" Tim hears the raspy voice coming from above. "The accused will stand up."

Tim stares at the shackles on his own wrists for a second, confused, and then four really rude hands lift him up.

"We're to determine today if Tim Skold is indeed a horrid witch and a devil worshipper," Brian says, looking down at him from the pulpit in the middle of the studio, dressed like a fucking pope.

Tim chuckles.

"Fuck, Brian," he says. "You're rea—"

"The accused will be silent!" Brian says and slams a giant dildo he holds in his hand into the pulpit.

 _Jesus_ , Tim thinks. _How wasted is he?_

"You will answer the questions honestly and clearly," Brian continues, looking at him with contempt. "Do you understand?"

Tim shrugs.

"Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, sold your soul to the devil, seeking magical powers?"

"Uh..." Tim says. "Dude, souls don't exist."

"You will answer the question!" Brian says and slams the dildo into the pulpit once again.

"Fuck, okay," Tim says and shifts on his feet, feeling really tired. "No, I didn't sell my fucking soul to the devil. Who also doesn't exist."

Brian nods and writes something down.

"Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, used your magical powers to prepare potions to poison the good members of our society?"

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks. _I wanna try those drugs he's on._

"Nope," he says. "I didn't make any fucking potions."

Brian nods again and writes something down again.

"Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, used your magical powers to gather the good members of our society around yourself, evil incantantions you learned from the devil on your lips, making the poor souls follow you into the abyss?"

 _Abyss_ , Tim thinks. _Seriously, abyss._

"The only evil incantation I learned was English spelling, but yes, my teacher was a fucking devil," Tim says, chuckling.

Brian nods once more and writes something down as well.

"Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, used your magical powers to get inside the houses of young innocent women and desecrate them?"

Tim squints at him, starting to suspect his answers don't matter much and he'll be found guilty no matter what.

"Nope," he says. "Not my style. I only have consensual sex with adults."

Brian makes a note of that too.

"Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, are awesome?" Brian says, suddenly stuttering.

"What?" Tim asks, startled.

"Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, is in league with the devil?" Brian shouts, staring down at him.

Tim feels that his cock is getting hard without much warning.

 _I need to get out of here_ , he thinks, panicking.

"Dude, sorry, this is getting weird," he says. "We'll play Spanish inquisition some other time, okay?"

"Silence!" Brian shouts. "Is it true or not true that you, Tim Skold, want me to finger you?"

"Jesus!" Tim yelps. "No, I fucking don't."

He feels a hot wave rolling down his spine and shakes pathetically.

 _Fuck, this is really embarrassing_ , he thinks.

"Is it true or not true that I love you?" Brian says, his voice breaking at the end. "Fuck, I fucking love you so much."

 _I need to get away from here now_ , Tim thinks and tries to turn around, but then the doors of the studio swing open with a loud bang and a wave of hot chocolate engulfs first Brian and then him too, and he drowns, helpless, flapping his limbs awkwardly, the boling liquid pouring inside his mouth and filling him up, burning his body.

 

"...ke that? Okay, sure," he hears John's whispering voice right beside him.

Tim's back pain gradually comes online.

"Fuck, John," he hears Ginger's panting voice. "Oh my God, that's so good. I love your fucking fingers."

Tim discovers his dry tongue in his mouth.

Ginger moans, deep and low.

Tim feels the bed shake underneath him, his legs springing into existence at once, surprising him.

"Yeah?" John asks. "That's awesome. You're fucking hot."

"Oh God, John," Ginger says. "Do it again."

"Of course," John says. "Fuck, you're so tight."

Ginger moans one more time.

Tim tries to turn his really heavy head on the pillow, but to no avail. His neck feels like a sharp metal object landed onto it from a considerable height.

"Wanna kiss you," Ginger says.

"Come here," John says, and then Tim hears wet muffled whining, his aching cock twitching, pressed into the mattress.

"Fuck, John," Ginger says once the kiss is over. "I want... I want you inside."

John inhales sharply.

"Fuck," he says, his voice breaking. "Ginj."

The bed shakes slightly.

"Please," Ginger says. "Fuck. I love you."

"Okay," John says, sounding somewhat nervous. "Alright. Let's try."

Tim listens to the shifting and shuffling, trying to move his rotting tongue in his mouth.

"God, Ginger, you're so hot," John says. "I want you so much."

Ginger moans, and Tim hears a wet squishy sound followed by bed shaking and cursing.

"Oh God," Ginger says. "John. John."

"It's okay," John says. "Don't worry. I love you."

Ginger moans and bed shakes again. John whines miserably.

 _Awkward fuck_ , Tim thinks, his chest starting to heat up rapidly.

"Fuck," Ginger spits out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Why can I never do it?"

"It's okay," John says again. "Come on. Let me help you, okay?"

Tim hears the wet squishy sound again and smiles.

"Oh my God," Ginger says. "Fuck... No. Wait. Wait. Fuck."

"Ginj," John says "Everything is okay. There's nothing there. I want you."

They kiss.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Let me try again. Just... Just don't touch me, okay?"

"Okay," John says. "I'm sorry. I love you."

"That's not your fault," Ginger says. "I love you too."

The bed shakes again a few seconds later.

"Fuck," Ginger says, voice frustrated.

"We can do something else," John says, voice scared. "Just don't cry. Fuck, I'm gonna freak out. Don't cry."

"I want you to fuck me," Ginger says. "Fucking hell..."

"Come here," John says.

They kiss once more. Tim swallows hard, feeling his chest ache, his whole body going tense.

"Okay. Okay," John says. "Let's try again. Don't worry. Just don't worry. Everything is fine."

"Alright," Ginger says. "Sorry. I love you."

The bed starts shaking again. More wet sounds are produced.

 _Come on_ , Tim thinks. _I put my fucking faith in you, you stupid squid._

"Oh fuck, John," Ginger says and moans.

John whines, and Tim feels the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Ginj," John says. "Fuck, you're so tight. Wanna fuck you. Wanna fuck you so much."

A hot wave rolls over Tim's battered spine and then again, bed starting to shake under him in a very familiar stuttering rhythm.

Then it stops abruptly.

"Fuck," Ginger says, voice tense. "Wait. God. Wait. I uh... I am..."

"You are awesome. I love you," John says, voice terrified and broken. "It's alright. It's okay."

"Fuck," Ginger says again and bed shakes again as well, jittery and miserable this time, making Tim furious. "I'm sorry. I can't. Sorry. I just can't."

"Okay," John says, shifting. "Don't cry. It's okay."

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks.

"No, it's not," he says, moving his corpse of a tongue and sitting up with his corpse of a body. "It's not fucking okay."

He looks at the pair of shaking white-faced bastards with hooded eyes, his head heavy, his shoulders numb, his snout no doubt not inspiring any arousal at all.

"You fucking shit, Ginger," he says, moving closer and grabbing Ginger's hair. "You don't promise John your slick crappy hole and then dodge his whining cock. It's John we're talking about. You give him what he wants."

"Fuck, Tim," John says, trying to sit up. "Don't—"

"Shut up," Tim says, pushing him down and gripping Ginger's arms tight. "You're fucking him. You're fucking his warm filth. Come on, squid. Get back where you belong."

Ginger moans and shakes several times. Tim grabs John's cock and presses his hand over Ginger's shoulder.

"Get it in," he spits out. "Give him your stinking shit. You lying fucking bastard."

"Fucking hell, Tim," John starts saying, but then just whines, his cock getting back inside Ginger's hole, Tim pushing Ginger down on it.

"Oh my God," Ginger says. "Oh God."

"Yeah," Tim says, digging his fingers into him. "Move. I know you like it. I know you want your crap fucked. Come on. Fuck yourself. Make it good for John. Make him come into your fucking diarrhea."

Ginger shudders and starts flapping on John. Tim holds him firmly and nudges him up and down.

"Oh my God, Ginger," John says. "Fuck. You're so tight. Oh fuck."

Tim chuckles.

"He is, isn't he?" he asks. "Tight and hot and slick and fucking pulsing. He's gonna make you come with that filthy dirthole of his. Gonna give you what you want. Piece of shit. That's the only thing he is good for."

Ginger moans, a sobbing quality to his voice.

"Fucking hell, Tim," John says. "Stop that. He's gonna cry. Fuck. Fuck, Ginger."

Tim chuckles and pulls at Ginger's hair, pressing his other hand on his lower back, pushing him deeper onto John's cock.

"Who cares," he says. "Let him fucking cry. He's just a hole for you. Just a shitty stinking hole for you to come into."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, shaking, his back arching.

"Shut up," Tim says. "Shut up and fuck yourself for John. Fuck your filthy shit up. It's fucking dripping out of you already. Fuck it back up."

"Oh my fucking God," John cries out. "Tim. You're fucking crazy. Stop. Fuck. Fuck, Ginger. Ginger. I love you. God."

Tim laughs.

"Don't worry," he says. "Don't worry, John. That's exactly how this piece of excrement should be treated. Miserable squid shit. Cannot fucking do anything. Just talks. Forgets what his purpose is. Fucking shitfailure."

"Oh my God, Tim," Ginger says, his back sweaty under Tim's hand. "I'm gonna fucking come. Fuck, Tim. Oh fuck."

John whines and tries to pull Ginger closer, to kiss him.

"Lie the fuck down," Tim says, pushing him. "This stinking hole doesn't deserve being kissed. Right, Ginger? You filthy fuck. Come on. Fuck yourself. Fuck yourself until John comes. Don't you dare fucking stop."

Ginger starts coming, sobbing, shaking under Tim's hands, stumbling, Tim holding him and yanking him up and down on John's cock without stopping, without slowing down.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," John says. "Oh my God, Ginger. Ginger. Fuck. Let him go. Let him go, you fucking monster."

"Shut up," Tim spits out. "He's not getting off your cock until you come. If he is, he'll just have to fucking suck it. He'll just have to eat his shit. Right, Ginger?"

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, flapping pathetically. "Yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck, John. John. I want you to come inside me. I want you to come inside my shit."

John whines gloriously and starts shaking too, the bed dancing cancan underneath them.

Tim releases Ginger's hair and pushes him down in John's arms.

"Fuck him, John," he says, boiling blood running out of his mouth. "Fuck him like you want to. Don't you worry. I'm gonna help you."

He grabs Ginger's hips with both his hands, bends and shoves his face between his cheeks, licking at his hole and at John's cock in it, the nuke in his chest spiraling out of control.

"Oh my fucking God," John cries out. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Tim growls and doubles his efforts.

"Fuck me," Ginger says, voice breaking. "John. Just fuck me. I love you. Fuck. I want you to come."

"I love you too. I love you. Fuck," John says, his muscles under Tim's exploding body going tense. "Fuck, gonna come. Fuck, you're so tight. I want you so much."

John's hips start jerking up and he moans, deep and low, and Tim feels his cock pulsing under his tongue.

Tim pushes Ginger off him, careless, bloodthirsty, shaking himself, and takes his cock into his mouth as deep as he can, John spilling inside it and wailing, unable to pronounce anything.

 

"Are you fucking insane?" John says, looking up at Tim, his face completely broken. Ginger shivers on top of him.

Tim sneers and wipes his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

"Stop bitching already," he says, wrapping his hand around his cock and shoving his other one between Ginger's cheeks. "You got what you wanted. Let me finish my fucking meal."

He starts jerking off, twisting his cock, pushing his fingers inside Ginger's hole, looking at John's beautiful, shattered face, looking at Ginger being a pathetic shitmess right beside him, coming in a short while, gritting his teeth, not even trying to say anything.

He slouches, once he's done, putting his come covered hand on John's thigh, pulling the fingers out of Ginger's hole and licking them with a massive shark grin full of teeth.

"Fuck," John says, his eyes going wide. "You're fucking disgusting."

Tim laughs.

"So Ginger sucking my cock covered in his filth is hot and you come like crazy looking at that," he says, nudging the pile of goo to give him some room to lie down. "But me getting the taste of the same delicacy is suddenly disgusting. These are some serious double fucking standarts, John."

"Fuck you," John says, his lips twitching. "Don't come near me. You're fucking insane."

"I am just being a good companion to Ginger," Tim says, touching Ginger's hole again. "Letting him know he's not alone with his weird kinks we keep discovering."

"Fucking hell, Tim," Ginger says, turning his feverish face to look at him. "Stop it. It is fucking disgusting."

"I don't care," Tim says, licking his fingers again. "You do fucking realize there isn't actually anything there? I'm really exaggerating about your fucking hole being filthy."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, shivering. "There might be. It's not sterile. And you never even look."

"Whatever. I'll go throw up if you want me to."

"You'll go wash your mouth with fucking soap," John says, looking at him, his face angry. "And you'll brush your fucking teeth. And get away from me."

Tim chuckles.

"Fuck, you two. Ungrateful bastards. I help you and this is what I get? Insults and more whining? By the way, I fucking appreciate the iniative, it's high time you finally started doing this, but next time just wake me up first if you're gonna try. Your fucking kindness doesn't work with him, John."

"Fuck off," John says and tries kicking him with his feet. "I don't want to fucking listen to you talking to Ginger like that. That's sick."

Tim chuckles.

"Well, he likes it. And you sure did like fucking him. I almost choked on your fucking come."

"This is insane," John says.

"It is what it is," Tim says, sitting up. "You signed up for it. Don't fucking pretend you are not into all of this, you filthy whining guitar jerking idiot."

 

Tim exits the bathroom ten minutes later, walking past John, who's demanding to know if he brushed his teeth, and going into the kitchen.

"Hey, stop touching the food with your dumb hands," he says, seeing Ginger ransacking the fridge. "Sit the fuck down. You'll only make a mess. I'll cook something. What do you want?"

Ginger turns around and shrugs.

"Pancakes?" he says.

"Okay. Anything you want. I actually have to thank you dumb motherfucker for waking me up with your pathetic shit fucking endeavour."

"What? Why?" Ginger says, sitting down and lighting up a cigarette.

"I was having a really fucked up dream about Brian interrogating me," Tim says, taking the flour out of the cupboard. "Asking me if I was a witch and stuff. I really need to stop taking so many fucking pills."

"Oh. Then also an omelette with cheese."

Tim laughs.

"Alright," he says and bends a little, placing his hand on Ginger's shoulder. "Wanna kiss before that whining dumbass comes here and starts ordering me around like I am his servant? I so didn't brush my teeth."

 

***  
Diligent student  
***

Tim walks into the kitchen and sees Ginger in there, blinking several times, confused by his overdressed state.

"Why are you wearing pants all of a sudden?" he asks, grabbing coffee from the cupboard.

John giggles.

"I am going to that island place you told me about with the guys from the bar for a couple of days," Ginger says. "Ter-something."

"Terschelling," Tim says. "Right, you told me."

"You're getting dumb," John says, poking him with his fingers. "Stop smoking so much weed."

Tim slaps his hand away.

"No way," he says and opens the fridge. "That's blasphemy. This is what this city was built for. You've eaten?"

"Yeah," Ginger says. "What are you gonna do today?"

Tim grabs a tomato and bites into it, juice running down his chin. He shrugs.

"I need to go to the studio to wrap something up," he says. "Then I wanted you to give me some fisting, but now that you—"

"Jesus," Ginger says, jumping, his cup falling on the floor, John cracking up next to him and choking on his cookies. "Fucking hell, Tim."

"What?" Tim says, throwing away the tomato remains. "You asked about my plans."

"Jesus," Ginger says, lighting up a cigarette. "Can we fucking stop with that?"

"That's blasphemy too," Tim says, snatching it away from him. "Fisting is the whole purpose of having stable honest relationships. Fisting and getting full of junk without any worries."

John kicks him with his foot.

"But, since you're going away, I'll have to occupy myself some other way, I guess."

"I can fist you," John says with a coy smile, looking up at him.

"Fuck," Ginger says and gets up. "I'm out of here. It's ten in the fucking morning."

Tim follows him walking out of the kitchen with his eyes and shrugs.

"You serious?" he asks, turning his head to John. "Or just messing with Ginger?"

John licks his lips.

"Sure," he says. "I can try. It's fucking weird, but I can try."

"Okay," Tim says, chuckling. "Are you going anywhere today?"

"No, I guess. Maybe just for a walk. I wanna play."

"Alright," he says, messing up his hair. "Well, see you when I get back from the studio."

 

Tim stops playing and puts his bass away.

"Come on," he says, getting up. "Enough. You promised to lend me your magical guitar jerking hands."

John sighs and stops playing as well.

"Alright," he says. "I am hungry, though."

"Go shove cake in your mouth then," Tim says. "I need to spend some time in the bathroom anyway. And to find those cool surgical gloves I bought for the occasion."

He walks out of the room.

Twenty minutes later he's on his back, arms hooked under his knees, sweaty, panting and full of devotion to the very brim.

"Fucking hell, John," he says, running his tongue over his teeth. "You're awesome. Damn. We should've done it long ago."

John whines and slaps his butt, Tim shivering at the impact.

"Blessed be your cruelty," he says, looking at John's pretty frowning face. "You're so gonna outshine me one day."

"Shut up," John says and moves his hand, Tim gritting his teeth at the sensation. "Fuck, you seriously forced Ginger into doing this. Fuck."

Tim manages a crippled laugh.

"Fuck Ginger," he says. "You're so much better at this. You are a God of fisting. Inimitable. Second to none."

John squints at him, his eyes somewhat angry.

"This is fucking weird," he says, moving his hand nevertheless, Tim melting on the bed with every touch. "What is the point? You're not even hard."

Tim opens his mouth to answer, but then just moans, his head lolling back.

"Jesus," he says when he can talk again. "Torment is the point. This is some awesome fucking anguish you're putting me through here. And don't worry, I am so gonna come soon."

"Fuck," John says. "You're crazy. I don't fucking get it."

Tim shivers several times, his whole body turning into helpless nuclear gas.

"It is an acquired taste," Tim says. "Like double penetration. We can try it on you if you want."

"Fucking hell, no," John says, raising his voice in indignation. "I am not doing this. You're insane."

Tim moans, pressing his head into the mattress, feeling his eyes getting wet.

"For all your talk about anal extermination..." he says, slurring the words, moving the foreign object that used to be his tongue in his mouth. "Alright. We won't. We can try it on Ginger, though. I can fucking bet he'll like it."

"Fuck, Tim," John says, slapping him again. "Shut up. God. No."

Tim chuckles, and the sound comes out unfamiliar.

"Fuck, gonna come soon," he says. "Come on. Cause me some more misery. Undo me."

John curses him again, but keeps moving his heavenly cruel hand, whining through gritted teeth, Tim coming brief seconds later, moaning pathetically, helpless and exposed, a horrific tragedy unfolding in his chest.

"Wanna fuck me?" Tim says after John sits up, stretching his legs with a groan. "I'll flip over. You can pull at my dead snakes and everything."

John slaps his thigh hard.

"Fuck, no," he says. "You look like a fucking corpse."

"Come on," Tim insists. "I don't wanna be able to walk until Ginger comes back."

"Fuck off," John says and moves to sit next to Tim's blissfull snout, taking his cock in his hand and pushing it into Tim's mouth. "Suck me off."

Tim does what he's been told, and it is not his best performance, John's assessment of his decomposing state being pretty accurate, but John comes boiling hot anyway, indeed pulling at his dead snakes, shaking and whining, not able to say a single word.

"Thank you," Tim says a bit later, John's angry hand shoving a cigarette between his teeth. "For the smoke too."

"Sure," John says, hugging him and kissing him on the cheek. "You're out of your mind, but I love you."

"Sweet," Tim says. "So when are we doing this again then?"

 

***  
Introductory course  
***

Manuela laughs and gets up, touching Tim's shoulder.

"Need to use the powder room," she says. "See you in five, boys."

Tim chuckles, following her walking through the crowd with his eyes.

Then John jabs him with his fucking fingers.

"Fuck, dude!" Tim says, looking at him. "What's your problem?"

John makes a face.

"I was sure she was into me before you showed up," John says, pouting.

Tim frowns and lights up a cigarette.

"She's into you," he says. "Trust me."

"Yeah, that's why you're calling each other besties here and bitching about fucking grammar," John says, crossing his arms. " _Owww, and what does it actually mean, Manuela?_ You don't even speak fucking Spanish, what do you care?"

Tim laughs out loud.

"Wow," he says. "That's new. The prettiest man in the room is insecure. Jesus, you really do just jerk off your guitar standing there looking cute and expect people to like you for that. Grow some fucking personality. Ask Ginger for help. He manages to pick up people. With his fucking face."

"Fuck off," John says and sucks his obnoxious cocktail through a straw. "It was going well till you showed up. We were fucking snuggling. She was touching my scarf. And now it is just your fucking immigrant talk."

"Jesus," Tim says. "Yeah, we have some similar experiences, so? And by the way, I am not saying she is not into me. She is."

John sticks his tongue out at him.

"But she's into you as well," Tim says, pulling his nose. "You of all people should know how that fucking works. Anyway, I can always fuck off, if you want me to. I can go back to snot hell."

"No, you don't have to," John says and chews a piece of chocolate. "Whatever. It's alright."

"Or," Tim says, getting an idea. "I can try and organize us a threesome."

John sits up and looks at him, his face expression changing.

"Yeah?"

"I can ask," he says. "It is a fucking crime I've never had a heterosexual threesome with you. Do you know how many I had with Ginger? With fucking _Ginger_. Fuck, it is really humbling to think that I attract the same crowd he does."

John laughs.

"Okay," he says. "I'd love to. Just don't... you know, don't ask her in a weird way."

"Of course not," Tim says, smirking. "I'm gonna be smooth. Again, you of all peopl—"

John pours Tim's beer on his head, cutting him short, so they have a bit of physical altercation. Manuela returns two minutes later, laughing at them, and their conversation gradually shifts to the fun all three of them have been having in Amsterdam, John smiling and becoming flirty again, so when Tim comes back inside after going out to take a call he finds him and Manuela snuggling, John's feathery scarf in her fingers, John feeding chocolate to her, both of them constantly pronouncing cute little words Tim is not sure carry actual meaning, Tim sitting there drinking beer, smirking, noticing Manuela's quick glances at him and her greedy frustration he himself felt quite often. He offers her to go back to their house with them, promising her orgasmic music and orgasmic sex, John kicking his leg under the table, Manuela laughing, sounding relieved, saying she didn't know how to get out of this attraction triangle without regrets, Tim reacting to that with praise to the said triangles, insisting that people should get into them and not out of them, adding that this particular one can also be spiced up by some gay content, John giggling after that and tilting his head, presenting his neck to Tim for a kiss, Tim immediately shoving his grinning snout there for everybody's amusement.

"Alright, boys," Manuela says, getting up. "Let's try this. But I expect to be allowed to stay the night. And I want to take a shower in the morning. No kicking me out."

"Sure," Tim says, giving her his hand. "You can stay the whole day too. Take a bath with this idiot and everything. And I'll provide you with sustenance."

"Oh, I love baths with a hot man," she says, getting John's hopes up in a heartbeat.

Tim explains the drill in the taxi, declining the offers to kiss and welcoming being stiff watching Manuela running her hands over John's chest under his glistening shirt, John looking really determined to just fall between her breasts face forward.

"Okay, this is our place," Tim says, opening the front door. "We're going up to guitar heaven. The first floor is designated snot hell for now. There is a sick third party poisoning everything here with his influenza."

"Oh?" Manuela asks. "A friend of yours?"

"Yeah," Tim says, pushing John to go up the stairs. "If he's not dead yet you can meet him in the morning. He's harmless, don't worry."

She laughs softly, and John slaps his arm.

"We should tell him," he says, looking at Tim. "I don't want it to be weird."

"Sure," Tim says. "Manuela, you can proceed to guitar heaven with this feathery creature here. I'll go check on our friend and be right back."

They go up, whispering, their hands touching, and Tim pokes into the bedroom, shivering at the smell and hearing sounds of fucking blues starting to come from the upper floor at the same time he sits on the bed next to Ginger, who's curled up in there, covered in multiple blankets, moaning sleepily.

"What's going on?" he asks, turning his head to look at Tim. "Are you guys having guests?"

"Yeah," Tim says, pushing his sweaty hair off his face. "We're having a threesome with John and a lady from Ecuador. Manuela."

"Oh," Ginger says and sniffs. "Cool."

Tim chuckles.

"Knew you wouldn't mind," he says, touching his forehead. "You can meet her in the morning, if you're up to it. Actually, if I don't collapse after all the gorgeous fucking we're about to engage in I can come here when we're done. Blow your nose and everything."

Ginger laughs, sound coming out with a twang.

"It's alright," he says. "You don't need to. Can you get me some water, though?"

"Sure," Tim says and brings him the glass from the kitchen.

"Okay," he says, getting up after helping Ginger drink. "We'll try to be quiet. That fucking guitar nonsense is gonna stop once I am up there."

"No problem," Ginger says. "See you in the morning."

 

The guitar nonsense indeed stops when Tim gets into John's bedroom, announcing getting naked time and proceeding to do just that, inspiring some cheering both from John and Manuela. Then after some initial nordic body appreciation resulting in Tim getting magnificently stiff the focus shifts on Manuela, who decides to join him in being the wild child of mother nature, John following them promptly and finally falling between Manuela's breasts with a smile Tim makes an additional note in his mind never to forget.

Manuela ends up riding John, John staring up at her like a fucking child at Christmas presents and whining, Tim running his fingers over tattoos covering her back, chuckling every time he sees John's happy face. John comes a few minutes later, demanding to lick some pussy immediately after that, Manuela accepting the offer but saying she'd like to have something inside at the same time, Tim introducing himself as a local dildo, licking her neck, both of them admiring the pure bliss on John's beautiful visage, Manuela coming with a long string of Spanish expletives Tim makes an additional note to ask the meaning of on her lips, Tim bracing himself, performing his aching cock duties to the best of his abilities, suffering through her orgasm and then getting one of his own, of a highly bisexual variety, John's magical fingers inside his ass and both John and Manuela's tongues licking his cock till he positively loses his mind.

"It's really fortunate you actually live here," Tim tells Manuela after all three of them rate the experience as superb and chill out on the bed, Tim with a cigarette in his mouth, John gorging on cookies, stuffing his delighted post-cunnilingus face, Manuela tracing her fingers over his beautiful naked back. "We're in town for a while. Feel free to pop in anytime."

 

Tim collapses next to their hugging bodies soon after, falling asleep, but wakes up at dawn with a full bladder and all the blankets stolen from him. He gets up and descends into snot hell, finding the devil reigning over it feverish, miserable and tender, his loving tentacles ready to welcome him in his sniffing embrace.

He wakes up again a couple of hours later, Ginger getting up too, getting dressed and cursing his mess of a hairstyle, trying to look presentable, Tim smoking and laughing at him, saying he should've gotten a trim when Tim was getting rid of his dead snakes, praising shaved skulls and dragging him into the kitchen to stuff his pale face with some mashed bullshit.

"You sure there is actually somebody up there?" Ginger asks, when the mashed bullshit has been cooked and fed to him in a really embarrassing fashion Tim makes an additional note to forget as soon as possible.

"She likes baths," Tim explains, sipping coffee. "And John likes pussy. They'll come down eventually. If they don't, I can try luring them out with the smell of my astonishing beef and bechamel lasagna I fully intend on cooking."

Ginger gets way too excited after that, so Tim explains that sick fucks like him won't get a single slice, because it can only be eaten by people who've practiced really vigorous fucking in the evening, that followed by a pitiful revolt that is laughably easily vanquished on the floor next to the couch, Tim tickling Ginger's ridiculous feet and getting ideas he makes an additional note to try later, Ginger trying to wriggle out of his grip and almost crying with laughter, and that, of course, is exactly how they're discovered by Manuela finally coming down the stairs followed by John wearing obnoxious clothes and his 'I had oral sex recently' face once again.

Tim cooks his astonishing beef and bechamel lasagna after the squirming squid has apologized for every aspect of his shameful state for fourteen billion times, John and Manuela happily stuffing their faces with it and Tim showing unbelievable mercy to Ginger, who keeps insisting he is usually not that big of a cave man and tries asking polite biography related questions, and helping him to stuff his, not forgetting to pacify his own hungry trap that Ginger kisses standing in the doorway when it is time for Tim to go to the studio, leaving the panting trio to chat and left himself with just the taste of Ginger's vomit inducing snot on his tongue, but not really upset about it somehow.

 

***  
Delicate balance  
***

 

"Because I love it when you do it for me and I want to do the same for you," John says, holding Ginger's hands and looking at him. "Because I love you."

 

There is a short period of silence, filled by two pairs of eyes moving, uncertain and concerned, and then Ginger gulps, and then Ginger nods, and then Tim snorts and finally puts John's guitar away.

"Fucking hell," he says, getting up. "Twenty minutes of fucking negotiations for the end that could've been easily achieved by me just opening my mouth and saying the fucking word."

John throws a sock at him.

"Fuck off," he says. "You promised you'd behave."

"Whatever," Tim says. "Come on. Get on with it already. Get naked. Suck each other's faces. Drown me in your repulsive sugar."

 

As luck would have it, this time they comply, John undressing Ginger and Ginger undressing John, their lips touching, their hands touching as well, both of them getting flushed, John beaming with excitement and kindness, Ginger emanating his profound fucking love and his pretty extensive fear, Tim just standing next to them, regarding them with an upleasant expression on his face, wondering how the hell is he going to pull off being a nice asshole this time.

"Okay, enough of that," he says, deciding to just do what comes to mind, because that, of course, has never led him down an objectionable path. "Ginger, on your back. Spread your damn legs. John, take your position."

Tim sits on the bed and puts Ginger's head in his lap once they've done what he's told.

"What are we waiting for?" he asks, looking at John's face, John sitting there between Ginger's knees, licking his lips and trying to convey his moral support to Ginger with his eyes.

"Fuck you," John says, kisses Ginger's thigh and then dives down, reaching the intended target in a second.

Ginger gasps immediately.

Tim puts his head back down, making him look up.

"Yeah," he says. "John's totally sticking his tongue up your crappy ass."

Ginger's panicked eyes move rapidly several times, searching for something on Tim's face, and then he blushes, and then he moans, and then he is afraid.

"Yeah," Tim says, smirking. "It is happening. Now open your fucking mouth and I'll have my way with you as well."

John makes a sound, trying to convey his indignation, Ginger shivering and parting his lips.

"Wider," Tim says, licking his fingers.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger manages, shaking, his eyes gone black, after Tim removes his thumb from his lips, looking down at him and baring his teeth.

"Good?" Tim asks. "Feel free to imagine you're sucking my cock."

He licks his fingers again and circles Ginger's parted lips several more times. It seems that Ginger has taken him up on his offer, presenting him with some pathetic shaking, John's hands on his thighs clenching, John moaning while performing his task.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Tim continues. "Letting John lick your shit. Letting me fuck your face. Trapped between us. Stuck there."

John lifts one of his hands and gives Tim the middle finger.

Ginger curses and says both their names.

Tim grabs the pack of cigarettes off the bed and lights one up, just sitting there silent for a while, his hand in Ginger's hair, looking at his pale face with red spots on it, at his pitiful body spread there between him and John, his legs shaking slightly, John's messy hair sticking out above his hips, allowing John to execute his mission, allowing Ginger to be the center of his attention, allowing them a moment together.

Which they use wisely and with mutual sound production.

Also, John's name is pronounced rather a lot, and "fucks" are not scarce either.

Then John gets way too energized listening to that and starts really putting his heart into the matter. Putting his tongue really deep up Ginger's hole as well.

Ginger falters in chanting his name and freaks out.

 _Right on fucking schedule_ , Tim thinks, puffing out the smoke and putting out the cigarette.

"Oh God," Ginger says, voice coming out terrified. "John, don't... What are..."

"John's getting a taste of your filth, Ginger," Tim offers his service and his explanation at once. "Don't worry, he's not gonna use up the whole supply. There's rather a lot of crap in your hole."

Ginger gasps, going into shock, and John tries making angry noises again.

"I'm sure his whole fucking face is covered in it now, Ginj," Tim says, holding Ginger's head in his hands, making him look up. "John. Show me your filthy visage."

John lifts his head for a few seconds, sticking his tongue out at Tim.

Tim chuckles.

"Yeah, just like I said," he continues, once John resumes his activities. "Fucking covered in it. But it's alright, Ginger. He likes it. John likes licking your crap. He wants you to come. He wants your fucking filth."

Ginger moans, shuddering.

"We all here like your filth, Ginger," Tim speaks again, combing Ginger's sweaty hair and looking at his broken face. "John likes it, I like it, you sure as hell like it. We're shit fucking eaters, the three of us. It's our whole shtick. Your stinky mess is the glue that ties us all together."

John moans obscenely, the knuckles of his hands he's holding Ginger's thighs with going white.

"Oh fuck," Ginger says, his eyes watering. "John. John. Oh my God. Gonna come. Fuck, John."

"Yeah?" Tim asks, the deadly nuclear gas escaping his mouth. "That's good. Come for John. Give him your fucking filth. Touch yourself. Come for John, Ginger."

Ginger wraps his shaking hand around his cock, moving it fast several times and then coming, his hips jerking up, his back arching, his head pressing into Tim, Tim holding it in his hands, looking at his unseeing eyes, his open mouth, his exposed throat, John producing a really atypical growl instead of his regular whining, Tim thinking there isn't much he can do to make him even happier than that, but willing and ready to try.

John lifts his head once Ginger's orgasm is over, an updated version of his post-cunnilingus expression on his beatiful face.

Which slides off him pretty fast when he sees the state Ginger's in, and it _is_ quite a state.

"Fuck, Ginj," he says, looking stunned.

"Put your legs up, squid," Tim says, pushing Ginger's head up, making him face John. "Show yourself to John here. Let him have a good look at your pathetic body. Yeah, just like that. Come on, John. Give it to us."

"Fuck," John says and starts jerking off. "Ginj. Fuck, Ginger."

He comes some seconds later, whining, his mouth falling open, not knowing what to look at with so many things on display, he comes shaking and boiling hot and fracturing into something alien and from outer space, Ginger looking back at him and Tim looking at him as well.

"Oh my God," he says, falling not entirely ungracefully on the bed next to Ginger, wrapping his arms around him, Ginger hugging him as well. "I fucking love you. Fuck, Ginger. I love you so much."

The bastards kiss, shivering and sweaty, both their heads in Tim's lap, their shattered bodies entangled with one another in a tight embrace. They kiss for fourteen billion years, Tim looking down at them, the radioactive decay in his chest glowing and measuring the time for him.

 

"Thank you," Ginger whispers, turning his wet pale face to Tim. "I love you."

"We love you," John whispers, doing the same.

Tim chuckles, putting both of his hands in their messy hair.

"What, I've earned your fucking approvement?" he asks. "Was a sufficiently soft asshole, ha?"

The bastards laugh.

"Do you want anything?" Ginger asks, and John licks his lips, trying to convey the specific details of the proposition.

"I want to go cut off my miserable cock you're chilling out on and stuff my face with it," Tim says. "It's no good to let this fresh kill go to waste."

The bastards laugh again.

"Forget about it," Tim says. "You are not much of an audience right now, and if you try going on stage in your fucking state I'm gonna boo you off it myself."

 

So Ginger stays lying there with his head in Tim's lap, and John stays lying there with his head right next to Ginger's, and Tim stays sitting there, combing their messy hair, with a cigarette between his teeth and a stiff cock between his thighs, and it is not just a short visit, but a proper summer vacation.

 

***  
Obnoxious spectator  
***

 

"Yeah, see you guys on Monday," Tim says, opening the door, the smell of ozone in the air immediately filling his nose.

 

He wanders around aimlessly, rubbing the back of his neck, getting wet, stopping to smoke now and then under trees, stuffing his face with _kibbeling_ without feeling much taste, even though it looks like it should be really good and he checks the name of the street to find the place later, the bile constantly rising up and filling his mouth. He wanders around diving into the memories of the recent mornings, repeating his own shameful words over and over, trying to change the scenes in his mind and failing every time.

He considers just staying out, going to a club, shoving some pills into his mouth, hooking up with somebody, a perfect stranger free of all associations, but then decides that it won't help anything and it is better to accept his fate now, wondering why it is still so damn hard when he clearly has endless supply of fucking experience.

 

"Hey, guys, are you home?" Tim shouts, entering the house. "I come begging for forgiveness."

He hears some noise and muffled swearing coming from the room. He sighs and slowly walks in, taking in the sight.

Ginger's naked on the couch, pale and hard, John's naked on the floor, holding Ginger's foot.

"Fuck off," John says, without turning his head to look at Tim. "We're busy."

Tim stands there for a second, then pulls out a cigarette, lights it up and hops on the table, observing the pair.

"Fuck," Ginger says and tries to get up. "Fuck it. Let's go to your room."

"No," John says, his back looking angry. "Forget about him. Come on. Want you to come."

Ginger hesitates for a moment, glancing at Tim, and then turns away and looks down at John, his face expression changing as if by magic, wrapping his fingers around his cock and shivering.

"Fuck, John," he says, moving his hand.

"Yeah," John says. "I love you."

He lowers his head and takes Ginger's toes in his mouth, Ginger instantly starting to moan, red spots appearing on his cheeks.

"Oh God," he says. "Do it again. God, John."

John sucks his toes and then gives his sole a long lick.

"Oh fuck," Ginger says, his hand speeding up. "Gonna come."

"Yeah," John says, kissing his foot. "I love you. Want you to come for me."

"Fuck," Ginger says, his head lolling to the side. "Can you... Fuck, John."

"Of course," John says, taking his toes in his mouth again, moaning around them.

"Oh my God," Ginger says, gasping. "That's so good. Fuck, John. I fucking love you. Don't stop. Oh God."

Tim puts out the cigarette, lighting another one up and watching Ginger come in his own hand, pressing hard into the couch with his whole body, his gulping throat exposed, shaking and sweaty.

"Kiss me," Ginger says a few seconds later, lifting his head off the back of the couch and trying to pull John up with his gooey tentacles.

John straddles his thighs, moving like a filthy liquid, taking Ginger's face in his hands and kissing him, Ginger touching his beautiful naked spine, John whining into his mouth.

"You're so hot," John says. "I wanna come. Jerk me off. Please."

Ginger wraps his come covered hand around John's cock and starts sliding it up and down gently. They look at each other for a few moments, Tim's mouth getting dry at the sight of Ginger's tender, affectionate expression, and then John moans deep and low and they start kissing again, John's hands on Ginger's shoulders, his hips slightly lifted up, Ginger pulling his head close, his fingers in his hair.

 _Fuck it_ , Tim thinks, throws the cigarette butt away and closes the gap between them, pressing his hand on John's back, somewhat lightheaded, guilty, hopeful, chest tight, bile mixing with blood on his tongue.

John shivers at the touch, tensing up for a second, a current of cold water running over Tim's fingers, plutonium in Tim's chest getting really confused and not sure what to do, but then John moans, relaxing, and Tim falls onto his knees, pressing his face between John's cheeks, licking at him, John coming several seconds later with a sweet whine, Ginger moaning as well, sounds muffled by their touching lips, soft and so warm.

"Fuck," John says, shifting to sit on the couch next to Ginger, Tim lifting his head and looking at the pair of bastards he really hopes will find it in their sugary hearts to forgive him. "Ginger, are you alright?"

Ginger nods, glancing at him and then turning his face to Tim, touching his repulsive belligerent mouth they should just stuff with John's underwear forever with his scared fingers.

"Thank you," Tim says, slurring the words and then putting his head on Ginger's knee when Ginger removes his hand. "I'm sorry. I've been a bad fucking shark this last week."

"Yeah," John says, putting his head on Ginger's shoulder.

"What do you wanna do?" Tim asks.

"Dance," John says, hugging Ginger. "Want us to go to the club and dance. Want us to look cool."

"Okay," Tim says. "Ginj, you in?"

"Sure," Ginger says, putting his hand on Tim's shaved skull.

"Alright," Tim says, and they scoop themselves off their respective surfaces after a while and go into the club, dancing there, pressed into each other, Tim running his fingers over Ginger's chest, scraping John's glistening shirt he's wearing, John palming Tim's hard cock through his jeans with a coy smile on his beautiful flushed face, Ginger's hair tickling Tim's nose, Ginger moaning into his mouth, their lipsticks mixing, purple and bright red and black, John's feathery scarf tied around all three of their necks, all three of them moving like one radioactive creature to the beat that has nothing to do with the music they don't even hear, never once thinking of passage of time or the infinite space around them.

 

*Kibbeling is a Dutch snack consisting of battered chunks of fish, commonly served with a mayonnaise-based garlic sauce or tartar sauce.

 

 

***  
Deep-sea exploration  
***

 

"Found your fucking belt," Tim says, leaning on the doorpost, wrapping the said belt around his arm, watching John's fingers doing things that are slightly wrong but sound divine to the strings.

"Thanks," John says, without lifting his head.

Tim puffs out the smoke and turns slightly, glancing at Ginger lying there on the bed on his stomach, watching John play, his wifebeater hitched up in the most familiar and the most nostalgic way. Tim moves his eyes down his body and then stops, looking at his feet hanging off the bed, toes curling now and then.

He touches his teeth with his tongue and pulls at the belt around his arm.

"Okay, stop with this guitar nonsense," Tim says, walking closer to the bed and putting out his cigarette. "We're introducing a new aspect to Ginger's feet thing."

John falters in his playing. Ginger tries to get off the bed and run out of the room, but to no avail, because Tim is already sitting right next to him, pushing his hand over his naked lower back and holding him in place.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Tim."

"Yeah," Tim says.

John looks at Tim's smirking face for a second, then giggles and puts away his guitar.

 _That's a good start_ , Tim thinks.

"What are we doing?" John asks.

"I'm gonna slap Ginger's ridiculous feet with this heinous belt of yours," Tim explains, voice pensive.

Ginger shivers and curses again. John makes a face.

"That's not sexy," he says. "You and your fucking slapping. Why do you always have to hurt him?"

Tim shrugs, pressing his hand into Ginger's body harder, feeling the temperature of it rising rapidly.

"Because I am a motherfucking sadist and he is a perfect prey?" Tim offers. "Come on. I mean, we're gonna do it anyway, but this way you get to be a supervisor."

Ginger moans, and Tim briefly wonders which part of his utterance had such an effect.

 _Or maybe it is just because I am in the fucking room_ , he thinks, grinning inwardly.

"Fuck," John says and looks at Ginger, searching his face for confirmation and apparently finding it. "Okay. Alright. But you'll be fucking nice."

"Sure," Tim says, pulling Ginger's boxers down without any help from the owner, but with some pathetic shivering. "That's gonna be the first time for all three of us here. I've never done it before."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger manages. "Like that's reassuring to hear."

"I've done it to other body parts many fucking times, so..."

"Yeah, to your fucking cock you then bitch about," John says and shivers too.

"Hm," Tim says. "Okay, maybe I have a tendency to go overboard with it."

" _Maybe,_ " Ginger whispers. Disrespectfully.

"Shut up," Tim says. "Anyway, John's here. John, feel free to punch me if I start misbehaving."

"Fuck," John says. "Okay. You're both fucking sick. How are we doing this?"

"Hm," Tim says, getting up and pulling the wifebeater off Ginger, tasting blood in his mouth. "Lose your clothes, John. And find me a dildo."

"Alright," John says, his voice excited.

"We're aiming for diversity of experiences here," Tim says, taking his pants off. "We're gonna make Ginger hard first... Or are you already?"

"Fuck off," Ginger says, his voice breathy.

Tim chuckles.

"Anyway, we're gonna make him squirm first. You can lick his fucking feet, John. I'll exchange some pleasantries with him. He'll fuck the mattress."

"Sounds nice," John says, holding up two dildos. "Which one?"

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, pressing his face into the bed.

"Up to you," Tim says. "You're gonna fuck yourself on it after that. So that you aren't bored while I deliver the pain and suffering. So that Ginger gets to at least look at something."

"Okay," John says, keeping the tentacle dildo in his hand and throwing the other one away. "What about you?"

"Jjhss fokhng Chrpst," Ginger says, lying there like a victim of a satanic ritual, but one with a massive boner.

"Gonna be stiff and cruel?" Tim shrugs. "We'll see if I get to come. We'll see if I fucking behave."

 

"Look at me," Tim says, propping himself on one elbow next to Ginger. "Yeah, just like that. John, you can start."

John starts licking Ginger's foot. Well, Tim can't see that, because he is looking at Ginger, but he doesn't need to see it, exactly because he is looking at Ginger.

He chuckles, watching Ginger letting out a wet sound, his lips parted, face pale. He combs his hair for a few seconds, then runs his palm down his spine slowly. He moves even closer to him.

"So what should I do to you?" he whispers.

"Fuck," Ginger says, shivering, his eyes closing for a moment.

"Come on, squid," Tim whispers again. "Spill it out."

John makes a noise.

 _Eavesdropping fucking virtuoso_ , Tim thinks.

"Can you..." Ginger starts speaking and Tim's attention shifts back to him at once. "Can you touch my lips?"

Tim smirks and licks his thumb.

"Open up," he says and circles Ginger's lips, pulling at the lower one, twisting it, smearing saliva.  
Ginger moans, and John whines on the floor.

"Again?" Tim asks, watching Ginger's eyes go black.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Yes."

"Okay," Tim says, repeating the sequence. "I fucking love it when you just swim into my mouth yourself."

John makes an angry noise. Tim decides to let it slide for now. Ginger shudders, his hips pressing into the mattress awkwardly.

"God, you're pathetic," Tim whispers again, tilting his head and smiling, looking into Ginger's eyes. "Fucking jelly."

John makes an angry noise again and then does something else, something evidently good, because Ginger moans and says "fuck, John", even though Tim fully expected to hear his own name.

Not that he minds.

"Alright, let's change the subject," he says casually. "How do you want John to lick your ludicrous feet?"

 _Not that I mind indeed_ , he thinks, hearing the double moan.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "I uh... I like it when... Fuck. The toes. When he sucks my toes. Oh fuck. And between them. Oh my God. When he licks between them."

"Okay," Tim says. "You heard him, you spying guitar idiot?"

John tells him to fuck off, taking a short hiatus, and then does what Ginger said he liked. Well, Tim can't see that, but again, there isn't much of a need anyway.

He grins, the warm fuzzy nuclear explosions with multiple casualties filling up his chest.

Ginger starts fucking the mattress a few seconds later.

"I think this treat needs a bit of spice," Tim says, blood starting to run out of his mouth. "John, spread his fucking legs."

"Fuck," Ginger says.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have a taste of your shit," Tim says, licking his fingers. "And you too, of course. You too, you fucking goo."

"Fuck, Tim," John says, lifting his head, his voice angry. "Do you have to fucking insult him all the time?"

"Shut up and lick his feet," Tim says, shoving his fingers inside Ginger, Ginger shuddering at the touch. "We're doing our thing. I don't interrupt your sugary fucking chitchat with my disdain, do I? Shut up and let us share this enchanting moment."

"Fuck, you're fucking insane," John says and resumes his activities.

Ginger just lies there, shivering, jerking his hips up and down.

 _Confused stupid squid_ , Tim thinks, digging his fingers deeper into him, profound radioactive fondness spreading in his chest.

"Okay, you pitiful creature," he says, taking the fingers out. "Who gets to eat your shit first? Should I just go ahead and treat myself to it?"

Ginger moans.

"Or do you want it first?" Tim adds, holding the fingers next to Ginger's parted lips.

"Fuck," Ginger says, looking at him with fucking devotion. "Tim."

"Yeah, I am waiting for an answer here," Tim says, chuckling. "Want it?"

"Fuck," Ginger says again, gulping. "I uh... Yes."

"Well, here you go," Tim says, sticking his fingers inside Ginger's mouth, letting him suck them, moaning around them.

John slams his fist into the floor.

"Careful with those divine hands of yours, John," Tim says, pulling his fingers out of Ginger's mouth and sticking them back up his hole.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger whispers.

"Yeah?" Tim asks. "Come on, fuck your filth on my fingers a bit. I am fucking starving."

"Oh my God," Ginger says, pushing his hips up, his body convulsing. "Tim. Tim."

Tim laughs and pulls the fingers out.

"Look at me," he says, opening his mouth wide, licking the fingers first and then sucking on them for a few seconds.

Ginger shakes violently, cursing in a breaking voice.

"Alright," Tim says when his seizure is over. "Now let's swap our bacteria and be done with this cuddly bullshit."

He devours Ginger's mouth, licking at his teeth and sinking his own in him, Ginger moaning pathetically into his mouth, John blustering on the floor.

 

"Virtuoso, up," Tim says, getting up abruptly. "Misery time."

"Fucking hell, you two are sick," John says, also getting up, his legs shaking. "Ginger, you're fucking sick. Fuck, I need to get fucked right fucking now."

 _You sure aren't looking much like a supervisor at the moment_ , Tim thinks, grinning.

He stands at the foot of the bed for some time, wrapping the belt around his arm, looking at Ginger's twitching feet, at his attempts to move his hips he stops verbally, looking at John's jittery hands fumbling with the lube, disappearing behind his back, grabbing the dildo and missing the first time, looking at their haunted faces they keep turned to each other, feeling like a rigid cylindrical metal object with an enthralling filling about to ascend to the awaiting sky.

Then John finally gets the dildo in and rocks his hips, his mouth falling open, his beautiful face blossoming and lighting up instantly, Ginger's body going tense in anticipation and fear for a second, his toes curling, his fists clenching.

"Don't you dare fucking move, you piece of shit," Tim spits out and slaps his feet with John's belt, propelled by the blast.

 

His hand with the belt in it moves several times more, ruthless and with a great velocity, feeling like an extention of the imploding plutonium core of his chest, and both Ginger's and John's hands are pressed hard over their mouths, John fucking himself on the dildo the way he shreds on his guitar, his face that of a horrible alien thing from outer space, Ginger lying there on the bed like squid Tim likes to cook so much on the cutting board, his body that of a jellyfish that's been crushed by a fucking tank, lying there and taking it, Tim towering above them, delivering pain and suffering, thinking this thing is spiraling out of control, overwhelmed, ready to call for help, unable to stop.

Then Ginger starts howling and John starts choking on his own breath, Ginger pressing his face into his own hands, John looking at him, terrified, and then at Tim, somehow even more terrified and at the same time furious, and Tim finally throws the belt away, sucks two of his fingers in his mouth, grabs Ginger's hair and shoves them inside him, pushing in and out, Ginger arching his back and moving his hips up and down, confused and lost in the woods, finding John's shaking hand with his own shaking hand, John moaning obscenely, deep, low, unfamiliar, Ginger coming, clenching around Tim's fingers, Tim telling him to give it to him, to give it all to him, John slapping Tim across the face hard with his other hand and coming as well, his marble statue of a body shattering into tiny raging particles.

Tim explodes.

 

The next thing he hears is Ginger's sobbing voice telling him he loves him, he will give it all to him, he will do anything he asks, his tender loving tentacles holding Tim's shoulders, Tim's boiling skull pressed into his lap.

The next thing he feels is John's angry hands yanking his hips up, pressing on his lower back, making him arch, the belt burning his skin in a sweeping blow a second later.

The next thing he does is wraps his hand around his cock and start jerking off the way John shreds on his guitar, howling the way Ginger just was.

 

Then the fucking belt accidentally lands between his cheeks and he yelps.

"Oh my God, John," Ginger cries out, choking on his breath.

"Oh my God, Tim," John cries out, stumbling in his punishment.

"Fucking do it again," Tim growls, putting his ass in the air.

 

He comes like that several seconds later, jerking himself off, wailing with Ginger's hand over his mouth, John slamming his heinous fucking belt into his hole.

He comes shaking and boiling hot and undone.

 

"Fuck," he says fourteen billion years later, lying there on the bed in a pile of severed limbs, the whole world drowning in radioactive blood. "Fuck, we need a more reasonable supervisor."

"Fuck you," John says. "We're not doing this ever again."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says. "We're sick motherfuckers."

 

Ginger's assessment stands the test of time.

They never follow Tim's belated suggestion.

They totally do it again.

First they do it alone with Ginger. They do it the very first time John goes away on a trip after this fucking experiment. They do it alone and Ginger cannot walk until John comes back, Tim carrying him around the house and suffering with him, because of camaraderie and because of the horrible back pain carrying him around the house causes him.

Then they do it alone with John. They do it the very first time Ginger goes away on a trip after their second endeavour. They do it alone, Tim stretching himself before John picks up the belt and spreading his cheeks for him after he puts it down, John fucking him while Tim screams into the pillow, and Tim cannot walk until Ginger comes back, living in filth all that time, John laughing and throwing socks at him.

Then they do it together, introducing the nice additions Tim proposed when they were doing it alone with John and some new ones as well, Ginger howling and licking John's cock while Tim slaps his feet, trying really, really hard to control himself for John's fucking sake, and then letting Tim scream in his own mouth, holding his dumb shark head in his tender loving tentacles while John fucks his beaten hole not trying to control himself at all.

Then the heinous belt gets lost again and they don't do it.

 

For a while.

 

***  
Coupling  
***

 

"Wanna listen to my tune?" John asks, lifting his head off Tim's shoulder, trying to look at him, wriggling with his fragrant naked body.

"Not really," Tim says, holding him in place. "How about I kiss every part of you and tell you you're a marble statue instead?"

John giggles.

"Come on, I want you to listen to my tune," he insists.

"Dude," Tim says, sniffing his fragrant hair. "We've been having a marvelous evening full of bodily pleasures. I've spent a fucking hour with you in that ridiculous bath. We should just continue like that. Be faithful to the style. You wanted Nice Tim and I am being one for you."

"Nice Tim includes listening to my tunes," John says, still trying to get up. "Nice Tim means you do everything I ask."

Tim snorts.

"Damn," he says. "I sure spoiled you, you whining jerk. Alright. Bring your motherfucking guitar. I'll eulogize your unbelievable skills."

"You'll what?" John asks, getting off the couch.

Tim snorts again.

"I'll tell you play like nobody else and look at you like you're the most beautiful and the most talented human being in the world," he says, sitting up too. "Which you are, by the way."

John jumps and claps his genuine fucking hands upon hearing that, and runs up the stairs, almost dancing.

Tim lights up a cigarette.

 

"Tim," John says, entering the room and giggling. "Look what I've found."

Tim lifts his hips and turns his head, looking at John over the back of the couch. Looking and seeing no guitar in John's hand. Seeing the long lost fleshjack in it instead.

"Oh," he says, grinning. "John. That's _very_ fortunate."

 

A couple of minutes later both of them are sitting on the couch, John's head on Tim's shoulder, Tim's nose in his washed, conditioned, dried and combed hair, Tim's hand touching his wet, parted lips, Tim's other hand slowly moving the fleshjack on his cock, John moaning obscenely and jerking his hips up now and then.

"It's so fucking tight," he says, voice whiny, Tim feeling a wave of pleasure running over his skin.

"Yeah?" Tim asks, curious. "How tight are we talking? Like Ginger's hole tight?"

"Oh fuck," John says, shivering, his head lolling back, his legs shaking slightly. "No. Not like that. Fuck. But tight."

"Okay," Tim says, chuckling. "That might be a really high fucking standart. After all, Ginger's massive fucking cock has been in this thing several times, whereas his tight fucking hole hasn't had such an experience."

John chokes on his laughter and then moans again.

"Fuck, don't talk about that. I'm gonna come," he says, slapping Tim's miserable cock lightly. "I thought we wanted to take it slow."

"Alright," Tim agrees easily. "I was just wondering. I never got to put anything of mine in there."

"You can try now," John says and puts his hand on the fleshjack, nudging Tim to let go of it. "I'll do you for a while."

"Oh," Tim says and removes his hand. "Benevolence."

John curses him, tells him to talk like a normal person and then stuffs the fleshjack with his aching cock.

"Okay," Tim says, his body going tense for a moment. "Fuck, okay. That _is_ tight."

John smiles at him teasingly and starts jerking him off, his hand moving as slowly as Tim's ever seen.

"Fucking hell," he says after several more seconds of that. "Wait, let me try something. Just hold it still. Lift it a bit off my cock."

John does, and Tim starts fucking into the thing, moving his hips, working his abdomen muscles.

"Jesus," he says. "Get it off me. I'm getting fucking ideas."

"Yeah?" John asks, giggling and not doing a single thing. "What ideas? Tell me."

"Sure, just take it off first," Tim insists. "I still plan on being stiff and suffering. I'm gonna fucking come if I talk with this on my cock."

"Okay," John says and removes the fleshjack. "So?"

"So you should just hold Ginger with your cruel hands like that while I fuck into him," Tim says, his mouth dry.

"Hey," John slaps his cock again. "No. He's not a fucking _toy._ "

"Okay, how about I hold him with my heartless hands like that while you fuck into him?" Tim offers, shoving John's cock into the fleshjack again.

John whines miserably. Tim chuckles.

"Yeah?" he says. "That sounds better to your spoiled fucking ears? You filthy little shit."

"Fuck," John says. "Ginger's hot."

"And also we simply must stuff his damn hole with both our cocks," Tim continues, moving his hand slowly. "Like, fuck everything I said before about it being impossible. We're doing the impossible. I'll sell my fucking soul to the devil if I need to."

John moans, his hips jerking up again.

"Fucking hell," he says. "How horny are you?"

"For Ginger's shitty orifice?" Tim says smirking. "Always."

"God," John says, panting.

"Yeah, you know, you've just got a little taste of it," Tim adds. "I've been diving into that paradise forever. That way beatitude lies."

John slaps his cock hard and then shakes, whining and gripping the couch tight.

"Stop it," he says. "The Ginger thing and the fucking words. You're making me feel dumb."

"You are dumb," Tim says. "But adorable."

"Fuck you," John says. "Make me come now."

"Anything you want," Tim says, grinning and starting to move his hand faster, pulling John's head up by his hair and looking at his beautiful flushed face. "Come on. Give it to me."

 

John comes a few seconds later, moaning deep and low, Tim staring at his shattering features, the nuclear blast burning the image into his memory forever.

"Okay," he says a bit later, when John starts breathing again. "Please slap my fucking cock now so that I can finally have some release of my own."

John makes a face.

"Don't want to," he says in a whiny voice. "It's weird. Face is hot. Cock is not. The shit you're into is weird. You're weird."

"Fuck," Tim says, laughing in disbelief. "You're a bigger asshole than I thought. You might become a bigger asshole than I am one day. Okay. Whatever. I'll do it myself."

"I can suck it, though," John says. "You can come in my mouth. That's hot."

"Oh," Tim says, nodding. "That works."

So Tim slaps his cock till he is satisfied with the level of agony, John on his knees in front of him, licking his lips and looking positively filthy, and then Tim stands up and puts the head between John's wet lips, wrapping his fingers around the aching shaft, coming within seconds, wishing somebody finally invent a storage for the visuals he's been supplied with over these last years, because losing that would be a major fucking crime.

 

Tim brings water and a chocolate bar for John some minutes later, and they sit together on the couch, both half dead, Tim smoking and John sucking on his treat, Tim's arm around John's shoulders.

"We have to jerk Ginger off with that thing again as well," Tim says, remembering his glorious ideas from before.

John giggles.

"He's gonna freak out when we tell him we've found it," he says.

"Yeah, so?"

John slaps his leg.

"You'll do something nice for him so that he agrees," he says.

Tim makes a face.

"Nah," he says. "No need. He'll do what I fucking say anyway."

"Fuck you," John says and jabs him with his fingers. "Why are you such an ass to him? It's like you're two different people to me and to him. Why do you never do anything sweet for him like you do for me?"

 

 _Because_ , Tim thinks, _because you take everything I do for you for granted._

 _Because_ , Tim thinks, _because you absolutely should._

 _Because_ , Tim thinks, _because Ginger will just serve himself on a fucking plate if I do even the smallest thing for him._

 _Because_ , Tim thinks, _because there is almost nothing left of him already._

 _Because_ , Tim, thinks, _because he's already given me everything._

 

"Because you are two different people," Tim says. "Because you are two very different people."

 

***  
Advanced level  
***

 

"Manuela!" Tim exclaims, opening the door. "Come in. Looking for John?"

"Yeah," she says, folding her umbrella and getting in. "Saw this lipstick today and just had to buy it for him."

Tim laughs.

"Also brought cake. He's not picking up his phone, so I thought I'll just try my luck here," she continues, giving Tim the box.

"He's jerking his guitar at the studio," he says. "Should be back later. You can chill out here with me and Ginj if you want."

"Oh, and what are you guys up to?"

"Actually, we've been just reading a philosophy book together sitting there on the couch like a couple of really boring motherfuckers," he says, chuckling. "But we're both hungry now, so I think I'm gonna cook and then we can do something sensible, you know."

"Alright," she says. "Of course. Sounds nice."

"You know where the kitchen is," Tim says and then turns his head to another direction. "Hey, Ginj! Haul your sorry ass here. Manuela's gonna be joining us."

 

He makes pasta and a salad, all three of them sitting in the kitchen, Manuela drinking beer and showing Ginger the lipstick she got for John, Ginger confirming he's going to approve, and then the cake she also got for John, Ginger confirming John's going to be delighted about it as well, proceeding to ask her job related questions and fun related questions and life related questions and her sleep quality related questions, Manuela telling him everything quite willingly and making some enquiries of her own, Tim just chopping vegetables and whistling, a cigarette in his mouth.

They eat sitting on the couch and watching a movie, Tim in the middle, Ginger trying to get as far away from him as possible, pushing Tim's arm that he keeps swinging over his shoulders off himself, Tim grinning inwardly and chatting with Manuela about this and that, asking what they've been up to with John, Manuela with her feet on the couch, all three of them drinking beer.

Tim gets a call some time later and goes to argue with guys from the studio on the balcony, and when he gets back the movie is already over, and Manuela and Ginger are engaged in a lively discussion of her exciting life once again.

He considers them for several seconds, lights up a cigarette, leans on the table the TV stands on, smirking. Ginger lifts his head a few moments later to ask him something and freezes.

"Fuck," he says. "Tim, no."

Tim bares his teeth at him. Manuela looks at him, her expression confused.

"I am not following," she says. "Is anything the matter?"

"This is my "let's have a threesome" face," Tim explains, pointing at his own smoking snout.

"Oh," she says and smiles. "Do you mean..."

She stops and makes a gesture between the three of them, glancing at Ginger, who looks like he's about to have a seizure.

"Yeah," Tim says, taking a drag and putting out his cigarette. "I mean, no pressure. But the movie is over and John's not here yet, so..."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says.

"Why not," Manuela says.

There is an awkward pause after that, Ginger looking at Manuela, Manuela looking at Tim, Ginger looking at Tim too, Tim shrugging.

"Hey, the lady says she doesn't mind," he declares, squinting at Ginger, who is at a loss of words. "What's your problem?"

Manuela laughs softly.

"John..." Ginger starts, voice uncertain.

"Oh, John doesn't mind too," Manuela says, smiling at him.

Tim chuckles and raises his eyebrows at her.

"We've had several discussions about your thing here," she explains.

"Fuck," Ginger says, hugging himself by the shoulders.

"But I can also fucking text him, if you want," Tim adds, admiring his miserable state.

"Come on," Manuela says, getting up, and takes Ginger's hand in hers. "Let's have fun."

 

Tim does send John a message, following them into the bedroom, Ginger dragging his feet, Manuela holding his hand.

They start the same way they did with John, Tim throwing his phone on the nightstand and undressing quickly, presenting himself like a gift from gods, Manuela kissing Ginger, Ginger gradually relaxing, touching her hair, helping her take off her clothes and letting her take off his own.

Then there're some new developments. Tim gets to lie on his back on the bed, Manuela riding him, his hands on her hips, Ginger behind her, running his palms over her body and kissing her now and then, Tim thoroughly enjoying seeing his miserable face and coming, staring at his parted lips, biting his own fingers after warning Manuela things might seem weird for a bit, but no worries, Manuela looking surprised, but not really fazed. After that Tim introduces Ginger as a local dildo, Manuela getting on Ginger's whining cock and Tim eating her out, asking her to evaluate his skills for comparison with John's, Ginger looking like he's about to faint, Manuela coming with a long string of Spanish expletives on her lips Tim understands general meaning of and grins inwardly hearing an excessive use of _polla_ , thinking _I know what you mean._

Ginger is taking a stroll in the Ecuadorian rainforest by the time Manuela gets off his cock, so Tim gets ideas he thinks deserve all sorts of prizes and awards.

"Hey, Manuela," he says, pushing Ginger to lie on the bed on his back and grabbing the lube from the nightstand. "Mierde means shit, right?"

Manuela nods and wonders why he needs to know at this particular time. He pours the lube on her fingers, slapping Ginger's legs with his other hand, making him spread them.

"I have a request," he says, turning to look at Ginger's horrified face and shaking his head slightly, baring his teeth, putting on an expression that screams he won't hear any objections. "Could you please share every foul turn of phrase with this delectable word in it with us while you finger Ginger?"

"Oh," she says, again looking surprised, but not really fazed. "Sure."

"It's just he likes it dirty, and my trumpet is gonna be really occupied for the next minute or two," Tim says, chuckling.

Ginger comes with both his hands pressed over his mouth, shaking like a leaf, Manuela's fingers inside him and Manuela's colorful Spanish swearing in his ear, Tim's hungry mouth on his cock, Tim swallowing his boiling junk with such readiness as if it's sacramental wine given to him at the Last supper by Jesus himself and Tim's a disciple that is slightly less gullible and somewhat richer than the others. And maybe they actually are.

 

"Yeah, I can never get enough of it, even though it's been like three years," Tim says after both him and Manuela agree that this experience was also fabulous, sharing their thoughts over Ginger's dead body and proceeding to discuss the most pressing matter of the evening. "That fucking cock."

 

*Polla - cock. :)

 

 

***  
The absolute end of Tim  
***

 

The house greets him with sounds of a dumb movie emanating from the upper floor, Ginger's voice asking John some questions in the background.

Tim sits at his computer and goes through his email, writing letters and listening to the songs people asked him to check out, hearing the sound of several guitars being played upstairs when he takes the headphones off to go pour some coffee in his mouth, Ginger's voice again asking John questions in the background.

John's hand lands on his shoulder some time later, startling him, Tim choking on the smoke and John taking the headphones off him.

"Hey," John says, nudging him to get up. "We need your help."

"Oh," Tim says, "Sure. Just let me turn this thing off, okay?"

He turns off his computer and finishes his cigarette.

"Alright, I am ready to go," he says, pushing John to start walking. "Time to discuss feces."

"Wait," John says, catching his hand with his own. "About that."

"Yeah? What?"

"Just... Don't be a fucking asshole, okay? I don't want you telling Ginj he's just a pile of shit for me to come into. That's sick. I don't wanna hear that. Don't fucking insult him."

Tim eyes John suspiciously.

"Insulting Ginger is kinda the whole purpose of me being there," he says. "That's what gets him through it with you. For now. It should get better."

"Fuck," John says and grips his hand tighter. "Just... Can you do it a bit nicer?"

Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes.

"That's like me asking you to play a tune in major and minor scale simultaneously," Tim says.

"Tim."

"Then again, you probably can do it," Tim adds and starts dragging John out of the room. "Alright. I'll fucking try."

 

Ginger sits on John's bed half naked, hugging his knees and already looking defeated. Tim regards him for several seconds, touching his teeth with his tongue, towering over the bed.

"Okay, I'm not accepting this pathetic attitude," he says, pushing John to sit next to Ginger. "We're aiming for success here. Come on, make out and stuff. John, work him up. Don't mind me."

He lights up a cigarette and watches them do what he told, getting undressed, making out, kissing and moaning, happy to see that John understood the task really well and puts all of his talents into turning Ginger into squid goo, moving like a filthy liquid, licking Ginger's cock with a teasing smile, touching everything he can reach with his magical spaghetti fingers, working Ginger up and most definitely getting worked up himself in the process, both of the bastards getting flushed, running their mouths and never shutting up, filling the room with praise and love confessions, Tim just constantly taking deep drags to lessen the taste of sugar on his tongue, getting stiff and then making peace with it, prepared to perform his shit duties.

"Fuck, John," Ginger says with a moan, John taking his cock out of his mouth and kissing him. "I uh... I want you to finger me."

"Okay," John says, licking his lips, face excited and frightened at the same time. "Of course. Should I just—"

"No," Ginger says, catching his hand. "Not like this. I'm gonna freak out."

"Alright," John nods. "How then?"

"Don't know," Ginger says with a sigh. "Maybe I can sit on top of you?"

They start shifting after that.

"No," Tim says, both of them jumping a bit upon hearing his voice. "On your sides. Both of you. Facing me. Ginger, you can close your eyes if you need to."

They comply, John lying down behind Ginger, Tim lying down too, moving closer to them, yanking Ginger's leg up, bending it and putting it over his own thighs, Ginger gasping and shivering.

"Lie still," Tim says. "John, get on with it."

John gets on with it, pouring lube onto his fingers and pressing them into Ginger, Tim knowing the exact moment it happens, panic appearing on Ginger's pale face, Ginger looking at Tim's contemptuous snout, searching it for help and finding none, Tim just smirking, Ginger shutting his eyes tight after that, his mouth falling open a second later, a moan escaping it, because by then John's paranormal fucking fingers are already in him and moving.

"God, John," Ginger says, feverish spots blossoming on his cheeks.

"Good?" John asks, planting a kiss on Ginger's shoulder. "Like it?"

"Fuck, yes," Ginger says, his hot breath landing on Tim's face. "So fucking good."

"I love you," John says. "Fuck, you're so tight. I want you so much."

Tim watches them go on, kissing and repeating the things they've already said in different combinations, starting to think this is going remarkably well and smiling. Then a string of unfortunate compliments falls out of John's mouth, triggering something in Ginger, or maybe John's magical fingers get into him too deep, making him realize fully what those awesome fucking sensations he keeps talking about are actually caused by, or maybe ancient gods decide to screw with them not finding all of it entertaining enough, hungry for Tim's sinful comments and his lost non-existent soul, and Ginger shivers and goes tense, his eyes opening, wide and scared and unseeing.

"Fuck, wait," he stutters. "Fuck... I uh... You sure—"

"Fuck, Ginj," John tries to soothe him. "Everything is okay. There is nothing there."

Ginger does not look convinced.

"There is," Tim says, his chest going tight. "And we all know what it is. It's your fucking mess."

Ginger shakes and shuts his eyes tight again.

"John," Tim says. "Stop lying. Tell him."

"Fuck, Tim," John says, lifting his head and looking at Tim, face a bit angry.

"John is so sticking his fingers into your warm filth right now," Tim says, pulling on an expression that he hopes will make John take a fucking hint. "I am sure he can feel it up there. Right, John?"

John bites his lip.

"Yeah," he forces out.

"Oh God," Ginger says, a hot wave of shame running through his body and landing on Tim's face.

"I can bet his hand is all covered in your damn shit, Ginger," Tim continues, not content with the result just yet. "John, pull it out. Look at it. Tell him how fucking dirty it is."

The look on John's face threatens Tim with imminent throttling, but John complies, pulling his fingers out of Ginger and lifting the hand, giving the middle one to Tim.

"Fuck, Ginger," Tim says, chuckling. "It's fucking embarrassing how fucking dirty it is. Tell him, John."

"Fuck," John says, voice breaking. "Yes. It's dirty. It's covered in shit."

"Oh my God, John," Ginger says, shaking. "Oh fuck."

"I want you," John says, lying down and touching him again. "I fucking love you, Ginj."

"Heard that, Ginger?" Tim asks, tasting blood in his mouth. "John likes your fucking mess. He wants to put his cock in your shit."

John kisses Ginger after that, excrements giving way to carbohydrates once again, Ginger moaning and saying John's name over and over, John whining through gritted teeth, stretching him, Tim admiring the scene unfolding in front of him, plutonium imploding in his chest, watching the pair until Ginger manages to squeeze out that he wants John to fuck him, John grabbing the lube again, shaking and babbling, saying he loves him so much and wants to be inside him even more, Ginger starting to freak out again, John panicking and Tim gripping Ginger's knee and holding him in place.

"Calm the fuck down," he says. "John's gonna fuck your shit right now. He's gonna put his cock into your dirty hole and come into it. And you're gonna give it to him. Alright, Ginger?"

Ginger shudders at that, howling, and John curses Tim and all of his ancestry, but starts creating the future Tim's just described anyway, pulling Ginger close and pushing his cock inside him, whining, slowly and gently, Ginger pathetic and soaking wet in his arms, Tim thinking he's going to lose his fucking mind right there and then, grabbing Ginger's hand and digging his fingers into his knee, not letting him get away.

"Lie still and take it," he spits out, baring his teeth. "Your filth is getting fucked."

John starts moving inside him and Ginger starts sobbing, John freaking out, chanting his sweet mantra, kissing him, Ginger pushing his hips back to meet him, both of them shaking like epileptics, Tim lying right next to them, feeling like a nuclear warhead, heavy and burning hot and spiraling out of control, interrupting the verbal sugar John's producing and Ginger's pitiful reactions to it by adding more and more sinful comments, demanding that Ginger make John come with his pathetic crappy orifice, that he tell him he likes John's cock pounding his shit and wants nothing else but that, that he come on John's cock clenching his crap tight.

"Fuck," John says. "Ginger. I love you. I want you to come."

"Oh my God, John," Ginger says. "Oh fuck. I'm gonna to."

"Not so fast," Tim says. "You wanted my fucking help."

Tim says that and releases Ginger's knee and dives under it with his hand, his fingers rubbing Ginger's stretched hole, rubbing John's cock moving in it, Ginger crying out at the touch, John saying he's gonna kill him when they are done, Tim removing his hand and lifting it and shoving his fingers into Ginger's gasping mouth, his lips wet and warm under them.

"Suck it," he says. "Suck your fucking filth off my fingers."

John almost breaks into tears hearing that and Ginger moans, shaking uncontrollably, licking Tim's fingers, both of them moving their hips, the bed jumping under them, Tim pulling his heartless fingers out and dropping his hand again, pressing them into Ginger alongside John's cock without any remorse, boiling radioactive blood running out of his trap and drowning all three of them.

"Come on, Ginger," he says. "Come for John. Clench your fucking shit."

Ginger does just that after several seconds, saying "fuck me, John" and "I love you so much," moaning and sobbing, flapping there in John's tight embrace, his hole hot and pulsing around Tim's cruel fingers and John's cock, John promptly following him, whining miserably, saying "I love you, Ginj" and "fuck, you're tight", kissing Ginger after that, twisting his liquid helpless body, Tim releasing him and sitting up, looking at their sweaty, broken remains, their shaking hands holding each other, taking off his shirt and saying goodbye to the buttons, pulling off his pants and throwing them on the floor, slapping his cock furiously without counting, causing himself such pain that it seems a bit too much even for a bloodthirsty shark like him, coming with his hand wrapped around his cock, his four fingers pulling his mouth open, eyes shut tight, the scenes of the fucking miracle he's just witnessed repeated in his mind over and over again.

"Come here," John says, when Tim manages to open his eyes again, lightheaded and swaying, barely seeing the hugging bastards in front of him.

"Thank you," Ginger says, when Tim falls down right next to them, pulling them close, not knowing who he is even touching, his whole body a foreign territory.

"You two," Tim says, when John presses into him, his hand on his throat, Ginger's boiling plasma engulfing the rest of him. "You're so gonna undo me one day."

 

They fall asleep like that after several minutes, their hot breaths on Tim's haunted snout, Tim a depleted warhead between them, dreaming of oceanic waves crushing onto the beach, John lying there on the sand, licking a squirming squid with his blissfull beautiful face, kicking Tim's trap full of teeth with his foot, Tim convulsing there with his shark body, demanding that John finally eat the thing, the squid expressing his gratitude in a breaking voice.

 

***  
Gains and losses  
***

 

"Tim!" John says, grabbing Tim's arm and jumping. "Look!"

Tim turns around and looks at what he is pointing at. And he is, of course, pointing at a sex shop.

"Oh," Tim says, chuckling. "You're very observant. This idiotic day just became much better."

"Should we go now or wait for Ginger?" John asks, shoving the ice cream into his mouth in a hurry.

"Of course we should go with Ginger," Tim says, glancing at the door of the museum Ginger's disappeared in way too long ago. "That's like half of the fun."

Ginger emerges five minutes later, oblivious and nonchalant, Tim watching him come closer, touching his teeth with his tongue.

"Check this out," he says when Ginger stops near the bench they are chilling out on with John. "Our guitar jerking genius made a marvelous discovery."

Ginger looks at what John is pointing at too.

"Fuck," he says. "No."

John giggles. Tim sneers.

"Come on, Ginj," John says. "I want us to go. Please."

"Yeah, come on, Ginj," Tim says, winking at Ginger. “I want you to writhe for me.”

 

They have a bit of physical altercation after that and then a tedious discussion, Ginger demanding to know what the fuck they even need in there and asking if three artificial and three naturally occuring cocks aren’t enough, Tim saying they definitely need a butt plug to obstruct the flow of feces out of his revolting hole and to compensate for the unfortunate festive one they’ve forgotten at home, adding that there're other things in there apart from cocks they might be interested in obtaining, John never managing to choose if he wants to kick Tim or snicker at his comments and doing a bit of both. It ends after fourteen billion years with John taking a vow he won’t leave Ginger’s side the whole time they are in the shop.

John keeps it for approximately three seconds.

“Oh!” he exclaims once they are in. “Rope!”

Ginger watches him run into the midst of the shop, pointing at stuff and immediately starting to flirt with shop assistants.

“Fuck,” Ginger says, voice devastated.

Tim chuckles and takes him by his arm.

“I told you, he has no memory,” he says, whispering into Ginger’s ear to screw with him. “Come on, let’s go look at stuff. Let’s see to it that you get hard.”

 

They walk around the shop while John lets the staff and the customers touch his hideous scarf and blows kisses at everybody with his lipstick covered lips, Tim making Ginger stand the longest near the most bizarre things he can find, talking all the time, explaining exactly what each item is for and putting on an upset expression when he has to concede his lack of omniscience, adding that they'll consult the professionals later, questioning Ginger about every single object on every single shelf, demanding that he rate the pieces on display from best to worst, Ginger getting hard, feverish and shaken, begging Tim to stop and then asking him to hold his stupid scared hand, because otherwise he'll fall, Tim obliging happily, savoring the taste of blood in his mouth and the fucked up logic of his request.

"Hey," Tim says, noticing something interesting and dragging Ginger to come closer. "Now, this lovely thing here we just have to buy."

It takes several seconds for Ginger to understand what he's referring to, but then he is also confused about the purpose of the item.

"It's a clamp," Tim readily provides him with education. "It's a pair of clamps that we can put on a pair of spots on your miserable body. And the chain is for John to pull at."

"Fuck," Ginger says, his voice breaking as if he is about to cry. "Tim. Please. Stop."

Tim laughs into his ear.

"Yeah, you're right, this has to be our communal decision," he says, turning around and waving at John, making a gesture for him to come closer. "Maybe he'll make his own propositions."

John, of course, doesn't make any propositions.

John just giggles instead, taking Ginger's other hand in his own and being a filthy support team for Tim.

"Come on, Ginj," he whines. "That's fucking hot."

"And also useful," Tim adds. "You get to have a free hand to stick into some other places."

"Fuck, John," Ginger says. "No. I'm fucking begging you."

"It would be much sexier if you begged him with these motherfucking clamps on your ridiculous nipples, Ginj," Tim says. "Maybe even more convincing."

John giggles again, sounding really obnoxious, and Ginger shudders pathetically, Tim really anticipating going back home later, but this time his premonition skills fail him.

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, his eyes starting to water. "You're horrible. You're both fucking horrible. I fucking feel sometimes like I am just a... just a _thing_ for you to play with. It's sick."

John's demeanor changes that very instant, while Tim just thinks he doesn't even have to pay for Ginger getting broken in the middle of the damn shop, because this fucking specimen belongs to him entirely.

"Fuck, Ginger," John says, both his voice and his face worried and tender. "I'm sorry. Don't cry. Of course you're not a fucking thing. Ginger, I fucking love you. Don't cry."

John hugs him and Ginger's shaking shoulders relax a little.

Tim snorts.

"Of course you're not a fucking thing," he says, allowing both of them to go away from the shelf they were standing next to. "Things don't squirm so beautifully."

"Stop it," John says.

"Fuck you," Ginger says.

"But thank you for sharing this delightful detail of your inner life with me anyway," Tim says, baring his teeth. "That is also very useful."

 

He gets jabbed repeatedly after that by John's cruel magical fingers, and then they leave the shop with a shit ton of really cool looking black rope John's chosen for them and a shining silver butt plug that was also a choice of John's and also one Tim greatly approves of, proceeding to deposit Ginger's shattered body on a bench and pouring cold water on him, Tim whispering in John's ear that this result is not to be seen as permament and he's so going to buy the fucking clamps as a birthday gift for John, John's demeanor changing once again, John himself giggling like a particularly cute monster and promising Tim he'll talk to Ginger in another, more appropriate situation, showcasing his cruel magical fingers he's been jabbing him with just ten minutes ago.

They continue their tour of the city after that, Ginger rising from the dead and even asking Tim questions about this or that place they pass, Tim answering and puffing out the smoke, rope hanging from his shoulder, John pointing at stuff and shoving things in his mouth.

When they finally get home John is at a bit of a loss to which one of the their newest acquisitions he wants to have used on himself, Tim shrugging with a pshaw and saying that he can have both at the same time, so no need to choose, John jumping and clapping his genuine body parts, Ginger sighing and thus making this test trial obligatory. So Tim ties John up with their really cool looking rope, sticking their new shining plug up his ass and urging Ginger to join him in licking John's miserable whining cock for as long as John can take it and then some more, Tim fully intending to gag Ginger on him for his earlier preposterous insubordination in the end. But John insists it is Tim's offensive yap that has to be caulked, and when John insists Tim is compelled to submit. He swallows down John's junk, gagging himself to the best of his pitiful abilities, somewhat upset for a second that John's angry hands are not available at the moment, but then ameliorating the situation by hauling Ginger up and choking John on his cock with his own merciless hands instead, John still tied up and very much excited to participate in such an arrangement, Ginger just wailing quietly under the hand he presses over his mouth. Then Tim decides he can aim even higher than that and chokes John on his own cock as well, John still tied up and still very much excited, Ginger also being consistent and wailing at the spectacle.

After they untie John, which takes forever, because Tim is not in any hurry and Ginger is pretty much useless, John looks at his own broken body covered in red lines, giggles approvingly and orders Tim in very impolite terms to make him something sweet, make it now and a lot of it, and when John gives orders Tim is bound to obey, so he goes to the kitchen and whips a whole fucking bowl of egg whites with sugar for him, Ginger feeding it to John after Tim comes back, John both blissful and disgusting, Tim watching all of that, puffing out the smoke and thinking that such levels of greed might not yet be a match to his own, but still are very, very commendable and worthy of high praise.

 

***  
Binary benefits  
***

 

"Look, I think we should just acknowledge our defeat," Tim says, puffing out the smoke, watching John shoving cookies into his mouth over Ginger's decomposing corpse. "I've said from the very beginning it was fucking impossible with him."

John pouts, running his palm over Ginger's spine.

"But he wants it," he says. "And I want it for him too."

"Yeah, and now think how much I want it," Tim says. "It's not gonna happen. We've tried fucking everything I can think of."

"Let's try again," John insists, his mouth full.

"Fuck," Tim says. "We cannot summon help from dildos, because you fucking whine that it hurts your cock..."

"It does," John interrupts him.

"I know it does, it hurts mine too. And I would've rolled with it, but then what are you getting out of that? I'd just have to listen to even more whining."

"Fuck you."

"Shut up. So what else do you want to try? Your dumb magical fingers are fucking useless because you don't want to hurt him. My heartless fucking fingers just make him come all over himself because _I_ want to hurt him and know how to do it best."

John throws a cookie at him.

"Any other options I am forgetting? I mean, I am not saying all of them aren't fun, they are, especially the last one as we both can clearly observe here. But not a single one of them leads to the desired end."

"Fuck," John says, sighing, and hugs Ginger's mortal remains. "It sucks."

"We'll have to live with that," Tim says, putting his hand over John's on Ginger's broken spine. "There is no way both of our cocks get into his stinking hole simultaneosly. Unless you change your mind about stuffing him with them after he comes. Then we can work on it."

"Fuck, no. _No._ That's sick."

"Well, then..."

"And Ginger's hole is not stinking."

"Whatever," Tim says. "We can still have him stumbling on our fucking kernels separately for our ceaseless entertainment. And if you want somebody cheerfully hopping on two cocks at the same time, you'll just have to accept it is going to be me. His scared orifice wasn't made for this. Your delicious opening requires delicate treatment and a lot of hard labour. My gaping fucking vent, on the other hand..."

"Fuck, shut up," John says, turning bright red. "I fucking hate you. You and your disgusting ass."

Tim chuckles, and both of them hug Ginger's carcass tight, pressing into him and looking at each other.

"Okay," John finally says. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I am fucking right," Tim says, and they close their eyes after that, listening to each other's breath and to the silence produced by Ginger, starting to drift off.

"Oh," Tim says suddenly. "Wait a second."

"What?" John asks sleepily. "Did you think of another idea?"

"Sort of," Tim says, humming. "It's a bit more staccato than the original layout, but. It just might be a close enough approximation to lessen our gluttony."

"Fuck you," John says, yawning. "I only understood one word from what you just said."

"Yeah, I know which one," Tim says, smiling. "It doesn't matter now. I'll run it by him and we'll see if we can proceed. Let's fucking sleep already."

 

They commence with Tim's ingenious scheme six days later.

They commence with it because he runs it by Ginger, and Ginger's stupid scared hands Tim holds firmly in his own to get through the discussion start trembling in awe and trepidation, which tells Tim there is no way they are opting out of it now, his mouth immediately overrun by deadly irradiated blood.

They commence with it because then they both run it by John, and Ginger's stupid scared hands John holds gently in his own to get through the discussion start trembling in a silent plea, which tells Tim they are indeed going to execute his plan, John's beautiful face immediately illuminated by love and affection.

 

"Stop fucking wriggling," Tim says, gripping Ginger's sweaty shoulders tight. "You wanted it. Now you're getting it. Come on, John, fuck his shit already."

Ginger shakes.

"Fuck off," John says. "Shit's in your mouth."

"Shut up," Tim says. "I am pulling the strings today. We're doing it ugly. Fuck him. Fuck Ginger's filth."

Ginger shakes again.

"Fuck," John says and pushes inside him carefully, working his hips, starting to moan obscenely in a second, Ginger following him at once with his miserable wailing, his swearing and his name chanting.

"That's right, Ginger," Tim says into his ear, watching cracks appearing on John's beautiful face, holding the squid goo in place with his heartless hands. "Just take it. Just give him your fucking mess."

He keeps watching John's face and digging his fingers into the boiling plasma from the center of the sun for some more, the countdown in his chest informing him of the passage of time.

"Alright, my fucking turn now," he says, once the warhead turns its horrible snout to the sky. "John, fuck off. Hold him. Hold his arms."

John swears, his hips falling down on the bed, Ginger gasping and then gasping again, when Tim pushes inside him carelessly, hammering in, baring his teeth, Ginger shuddering in John's tender hold, trying to call Tim by his name and failing spectacularly.

"Like that, Ginger?" Tim asks, chuckling, pulling his hair, blood running out of his mouth on Ginger's curved spine. "Give your damn hole to me. Give me your warm fucking diarrhea."

He keeps questioning Ginger and ignoring John's whiny protests, the warhead in his chest acquiring altitude, fiery and shaking in anticipation of death and destruction.

"John, pick up the shitduct," he says when the nuke finds its target, yanking Ginger off himself and nudging John to get in, Ginger having a seizure in the tight confines of their four hands.

 

The handover keeps going on for a while after that, Tim's increasingly mortifying verbal abuse intermixing with John's increasingly futile whimpering obejctions, Ginger's droning of both their names gradually giving way to just embarrassing howling and then even tears that are a punch in the face for John and a gift from gods to Tim.

"Oh fuck," Ginger says, convulsing. "Fuck, Tim. Gonna come. Gonna fucking come."

"Yeah? On whose cock?" Tim asks, thrusting into him. "On whom of us do you want to clench your disgusting fucking shit?"

John yells something, but Tim cannot hear what, the sound muffled by Ginger's sobbing moan, deadened by the hum of the warhead spiraling down with the speed of light.

"Can't fucking choose, ha?" Tim inquires again. "Well, don't worry, I'll decide for you."

He pulls out of Ginger in a sharp motion, pushing him on John's cock, slapping John's hands to inspire some action, John getting in and crying out, Ginger doing the same.

"Come on John's cock, Ginger," Tim says, holding his soaking wet shoulders. "Clench your filth for him. Make him come. Make him come into your shit. Don't you dare fucking stop, John."

John curses him, jerking his hips up, Ginger in his gentle embrace, moaning with an open mouth, John saying he loves him, stuttering and breathless.

"He'll make you come, John," Tim says, bloodthirsty, excited to witness the disaster that is about to happen, excited to produce one of his own. "Ginger'll make you come no matter what. Right, Ginger? That's what he is here for. That's his fucking purpose. Yes, Ginger?"

"Fuck you," John spits out. "Fuck you, you fucking shark. Ginger, I love you. Don't listen to him. I love you so much."

"Oh God," Ginger gasps out. "Yes. Yes, I will. Oh fuck. John. Oh my God. Don't let me go. Tim, please, don't let me go."

 

The devastating disaster happens right after these words are uttered. Ginger comes, shaking like an epileptic, yet held firmly in place by Tim's merciless hands, crying and undone, and John comes shortly after, Tim pushing Ginger's body down and yanking it up for him, John's beatiful face in absolute ruins and in tears as well, Tim's nuclear bomb meeting with the surface and tearing his chest apart.

He moves to the side, propelled by the blast, after John falls, beaten and battered, grabbing Ginger's hair and turning his head, pulling his mouth open and shoving his own cock inside, telling Ginger to choke on his shit, Ginger still crying and undone, moaning around him, letting him do it, welcoming it, Tim staring down at John staring up at Ginger, shocked, pressing both his hands over his whining mouth, Tim slapping himself hard across the face, crying out pathetically at the pain and tearing up as well, coming in Ginger's mouth and then falling down on John and pulling Ginger along, wrapping his arms around both of them and kissing them, sucking their faces, transferring filth, blood, come and nuclear explosion gas in yet another handover.

The aftermath of the devastating disaster is remarkably peaceful.

 

***  
Cock binge  
***

 

"Hey!" Tim says, diving deeper with his fingers. "Stop touching him, you dumb squid. We don't need premature ejaculation here."

"Sorry," Ginger says, removing his hands from John's body.

Greedy guitar jerk whines.

"Shut up, John," Tim says, looking up at his beautiful insatiable face. "You'll come on our cocks. Need I remind you, that _is_ what you wanted."

"Fuck you," John says and moans, shivering. "It is too fucking slow."

Tim laughs out loud in disbelief.

"Yeah, because I am not allowed to hurt you in the process," he says. "Jesus, show me some fucking gratitude here."

"Fuck you," John says again, arching, Ginger whimpering next to him, Tim's mouth gradually filling with blood.

"Ginj, calm him down," Tim says. "Tell him something appalling. Tell him about something I did to you."

"Fuck you," Ginger says as well, lying down and whispering into John's ear.

Tim gets called a sick motherfucker a few seconds later, but John stops balancing on the brink of orgasm after that, and Tim feels certain pride for his evil transgressions.

He finishes his convoluted task, pulls the dildo out of John, arranges the shaking bastards and tells them to brace themselves.

"Incoming," he says, pushing inside John alongside Ginger.

 

"Incoming," he says, and magical, wonderful things start happening.

Ginger for once doesn't ask his rhetorical fucking questions about the purpose of this, having requested to go through the same torment not so long ago, and just holds John with his trembling tentacles, John trapped and helpless between him and Tim, tearing multiple universes apart with his philharmonic performance, shaking and sweaty and delicious on their cocks, and Tim bares his teeth, letting the fountains of radioactive blood run down John's beautiful naked spine, pushing into him and doing all the hard work as usual. Not that he minds.

"Fuck, gonna come," John wails pathetically after several minutes of magnificently slow anal torture. "Oh fuck. Gonna come."

Ginger props himself on his elbows then and pulls him into a kiss, letting him moan into his mouth, Tim works his hips in a steady rhythm, plutonium imploding in his chest, and John comes, shattering, clenching for fourteen billion years, Tim thinking it is very fucking fortunate that he and Ginger have followed the procedure to the T and jerked each other off some time before launching this delightful project, thinking that if they hadn't no arrogant tedious nineteenth century German motherfuckers would've helped them avoid choking it in its infancy.

John falls not entirely ungracefully off their cocks after his prolonged orgasm, his whole body convulsing, carried into the deep ocean by the waves, his pretty face that of an alien monster from outer space and covered in tears, Ginger holding him with his tender loving tentacles, shaking like a leaf, Tim towering above them, nuclear blast fire escaping his mouth every time he exhales.

"Tim," John says, slurring his short name and looking up at him, eyes blurry and full of filth. "Undo Ginj now."

 _How can I not_ , Tim thinks, shoving two fingers into Ginger's mouth, pressing them into his hard palate, hauling him up like that, his neck arching, his limbs dragged akwardly across the bed, and wraps his other hand around his cock, jerking him off, telling him to touch his nipples, Ginger wailing miserably, complying, hands shaking, throat twitching, coming in several seconds, Tim pulling at his upper teeth.

Ginger falls into John's shivering embrace like a waterfall of goo, the bastards immediately starting to kiss. Tim slaps himself hard across the face a couple of times, feeling a little forlorn, and then notices the space cock he's been using to stretch John, which is also forlorn at the moment. He grabs it, wiping the lube off it, wrapping the slippery hand around his own cock and shoving the interstellar vacuum dwelling thing into his own mouth, sucking on it, shutting his eyes tight, playing the scenes of perversion and debauchery he's just participated in in his mind, coming hot with John's slurred protests in his ear, a shit-eating nuclear grin worn by the warhead inside his chest.

John tries kicking him out of the bed after he comes, saying he's disgusting and he doesn't want him around, but he is too thoroughly fucked to achieve that goal, so Tim just falls on top of him, pulling Ginger close as well, and all three of them pass out, too ruined to do anythng else.

 

A dew days later Tim is in bed with Ginger, thoroughly enjoying his morning erection and toying with his cock. Ginger starts pushing him away and they roll on the mattress several times, Ginger crying out because something hurts his back. That something turns out to be the glass dildo that Tim pulls from under his body and licks, Ginger's eyes going black that very instant, his mouth falling agape.

Tim makes him fuck that agape fucking mouth with the dildo, he tells him to lie on his back, a pillow under his head, the glass dildo shoved down his gulping throat by his shaking hand, his other shaking hand on his cock, his legs thrown open, feet up in the air, his appetizing hole presented to Tim, Tim towering above him and admiring the scenery, running out of the room and informing John, who's touching his guitar inapproriately upstairs, of this mouthwatering discovery of his right after Ginger comes, boiling hot and helpless, right after Tim himself follows him promptly, beating off furiously and still admiring the scenery, Ginger's pathetic state on display for him.

 

A few days later Tim decides it's time to work on applying this discovery of his some more and invites the really excited supervisor to join them. Tim makes Ginger gag on the glass dildo, Ginger standing on his knees in front of him naked, Tim standing on the floor in the middle of the room fully dressed, John whining on the bed for two minutes, then saying there's no way he's not taking part in it, running upstairs and coming back with the cock from outer space which he shoves in Tim's free hand, jumping on one foot and losing his glistening clothes. Tim fucks both his and Ginger's mouths with the dildos, looking down at them looking up at him, both of them jerking off and moaning, John obscenely and Ginger with a sobbing quality to his voice, until they come one after another and Tim himself comes in his pants, going thermonuclear just seeing that.

 

A few days later John finds the tentacle dildo and requests filth of Tim, so after they thoroughly wash the traumatized thing and locate the other two cocks as well Tim sits in the armchair with his legs thrown open and his feet up in the air in front of John and Ginger, both of them hard and wide-eyed, and fucks himself on all three dildos, shoving the squid body part in his mouth and the nicely paired up interstellar and transparent cocks deep and mercilessly in his hole, coming boiling hot, thinking of being chopped and served as sashimi, listening to stupid bastards whining and going into shock on the bed.

He then fucks himself some more, spitting out the severed tentacle and sucking first John's and then Ginger's cock, shoving the phallic couple even deeper up his hole with his slippery shaking hand, swallowing both John's and Ginger's come down with a junk-eating grin and thus bringing this brief period of cock bacchanalia to its logical conclusion.

 

***  
Love affairs  
***

"Wait a second, I'll ask him," Tim says and runs up the stairs.

John is sitting on his bed naked, jerking his guitar.

"Hey," he says, lifting his head to look at Tim. "Are you guys going somewhere?"

"Yeah," Tim says. "I promised Ginger a romantic fucking outing when we came here and we've been postponing it forever. We're going to Brussels."

"Cool," John says and smiles.

"Ginger wants to know if you feel like joining us," Tim asks.

"Hm," John says. "Manuela's coming soon."

"I don't mind Manuela joining us either," Tim says, smirking.

John giggles.

"What are you gonna do?" he asks.

Tim shrugs.

"Read a boring book on the train," he says contemplatively. "Get insulted by waiters speaking language of love. Stare at weird silvery installation while I give Ginger lectures in advanced theoretical physics. Something like that."

John laughs.

"Yeah, no, thanks," he says. "We'll do something actually fun with Manuela."

"As you wish," Tim says. "Tell her I said hi."

 

They read their boring book on the train, fighting several times, because Tim keeps turning the page, reading way too fast, not very interested in the story, his arm around Ginger's shoulders, both of them feeding each other peanuts, putting them into each other's mouths, Tim also diving into Ginger's with his fingers when Ginger is particularly deep in the book, parting his lips for Tim subconsciously, Tim grinning inwardly, Ginger jumping after several seconds, looking embarrassed.

They go around the city poking into endless religious structures and palaces, visiting the musical instruments museum, drinking beer and holding hands, bumping into people, lying on the grass in the park, their limbs thrown wide, listening to music sharing a pair of earphones, Ginger buying a shit ton of chocolate for John, Tim smoking and asking Ginger to kick things on the ground together.

They do all of that until both of them feel they are starving, and then they go stuff their faces with mussels and fries, waiters insulting them in language of love, Tim giving everybody middle fingers under the table and then keeping his hand there, palming Ginger's cock, Ginger eating like an awkward fuck, Tim laughing at him, shoving the poor little sea creatures between his teeth and passing them to Ginger like that, Ginger getting overly excited and devouring his fucking face as well, waiters insulting them in language of love again, Tim leaving an enourmous tip for such a wonderful experience and dragging Ginger out to stare at the silvery installation.

They do exactly that for fuck knows how long, sitting on their butts on the ground, people bumping into them, Ginger asking him all sorts of questions, listening to him with an open mouth, Tim telling him about both alpha and beta radioactive decays, omitting the gamma decay because it is boring, telling him about the life cycle of stars and their chemical composition, telling him about atomic piles and explaining the difference between fusion and fission again, because Ginger is still somehow confused, insisting that fission is way cooler because nuclear stuff gets shattered and shattered things are the most awesome ones, admitting that he might have picked up some literature in a book club he might have gone to to prepare for this occasion when Ginger says he feels dumb and starts shaking Tim by his shoulders, demanding to know where he gets his extensive fucking knowledge.

After that Ginger goes completely overboard and asks for waffles. Tim sighs, but keeps his romantic promise, thinking he'll just have to double down on being nasty and horrible later to compensate for this.

  
He rides Ginger when they get to their hotel, Ginger looking up at him with his usual awe and unusually elevated levels of happiness, Tim giving him a damn show, Ginger saying he's never seen anybody so beautiful, Tim chuckling and saying John's never going to forgive him and then urging Ginger to talk, to say whatever the fuck he wants, and Ginger does, drowning him in his profound love and his profound sugar as well, Tim baring his teeth at him, Ginger asking if he wants him to hurt him after he finishes with his praise, Tim saying he already fucking hurt him so much and insisting he's going to go off with a blast with profound fucking guilt rupturing his thermonuclear chest, Ginger's eyes watering after that, Tim telling him to shut the fuck up with his objections and let him come for him.

After Tim comes for Ginger they flip over and Tim lies on his back for Ginger, letting him say all his stupid fucking things again, letting him lie on top of him, heavy, hot and tender, letting him come inside him, shivering and fucking undone.

Tim laments while Ginger is still shaking on top of him that this period of letting Ginger fuck him purely for Ginger's sake was too brief, declaring that when they get back to Amsterdam Tim's going to fuck himself on the dildo, while Ginger reads his boring philosophy bullshit in the other room none the wiser, and let him fuck himself after he comes, let him do it taking his sweet time, expressing hopes Ginger can perform this task forever, adding that he'll stick a plug up his hole afterwards to keep it stretched until the moment Ginger is ready to perform that task once again, expressing hopes that this waiting period will be brief as well. Ginger whispers into his ear that it is fucking sick, and Tim says sick things are the best part of their weird interspecific relationship.

 

***  
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes  
***

 

"Hey, what's that?" Ginger asks, walking around the bedroom and picking up dirty socks off the floor.

"Oh," Tim says, looking at what he's pointing at. "That's stuff I bought for John. For his fucking birthday you want me to celebrate so much."

"Can I see it?" Ginger asks.

"Be my guest," Tim says, grinning inwardly, thinking he really must be a God's chosen shark, because if he just keeps his mouth open long enough the stupid squid will swim into it himself.

He lights up a cigarette and props himself on one elbow, watching Ginger go through the bag, waiting for him to fall into his trap.

He doesn't have to wait for long.

"Fuck," Ginger says and shudders, releasing the bag, both his hands landing on his thighs, his body tilting a bit, muscles going tense. "Tim. Fuck, Tim."

Tim laughs.

"John told me you agreed," he says, getting up and creeping closer to Ginger.

"Fuck," Ginger says again, his fists clenching. "I fucking didn't. We were in bed. He was fucking touching me."

"Okay, then he blackmailed you by some cock sucking, who cares," Tim says, stopping right next to him and poking his grinning snout into the bag as well. "I still want him to have them. For you to remember me during that hairy fucking tour you two are so dead set on doing."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, shivering, looking miserable, Tim turning him around by the shoulders.

"Jesus," Tim says, pulling his head up by his chin. "Relax already. It's not like I can force him to use them on you. I'm not gonna be there. You can start crying and everything, and he'll concede, so you'll just have your usual boring sex without any nipple clamps."

"Fuck you," Ginger says, trying to push him away.

"What I can do, though," Tim continues, pushing Ginger back. "Is force you to wear ones I bought for us."

"Fuck," Ginger says, taking several steps back until he's pressed into the wall.

"You can also cry and everything," Tim says, chuckling. "I won't concede."

 

Five minutes and some pitiful combat action later Ginger is naked in bed in front of him, watching him in horror.

"Okay, so how does it feel?" Tim asks once he's done with his task, looking at Ginger and admiring his work. "Hurts?"

"Fuck," Ginger says and licks his lips, avoiding lowering his head as if Tim doesn't notice that. "No. Fuck. Maybe a bit. It's alright."

"And now?" Tim inquires further, pulling at the chain.

"Fuck," Ginger says, shivering, his hands on the mattress flying up and then falling down helplessly. "Now it fucking hurts."

"Cool," Tim says, getting up.

He stands at the foot of the bed for several seconds, watching Ginger being pathetic, biting his lips, his red face turned away from Tim.

Then he hooks his fingers under the chain and pulls.

"Come on," Tim says, baring his teeth. "We need a fucking mirror."

 

Two minutes and some pitiful stumbling later Ginger is naked in front of the mirror, Tim standing behind him, holding him by his shoulders and breathing into his ear, both of them looking at Ginger's miserable reflection.

 _Miserable and really fucking sexy reflection_ , Tim thinks.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, voice breaking.

"Fuck, you should just walk around like that all the time," Tim says, blood starting to run out of his mouth. "Fuck, Ginger. Look at your fucking cock."

Ginger whines.

Tim releases his shoulders and puts his fingers on the clamps.

Ginger carries on with his sound production.

"Fuck, why haven't I bought them sooner?" Tim says, spilling gallons of blood from his mouth on Ginger's shivering body. "Fuck, I am not gonna see you like forever after we leave here. Fuck you and your fucking tours. Fuck, you're so wearing them with John. Fuck, you're so sending me pictures."

"Oh my God," Ginger says, starting to slide down onto the floor, so Tim puts his hands back on his shoulders and pulls him closer.

"Not here," Tim says. "We're gonna go back to the bedroom and you'll kneel on the floor there. You'll kneel and suck my fucking cock I will have to jerk alone for a fucking eternity after we leave."

 

Five minutes and more pitiful stumbling and some additional miserable begging - _miserable and really fucking sexy begging_ , Tim thinks - later Ginger is naked on his knees in front of him on the floor, Tim towering over him, the levels of radioactive blood in the room becoming dangerous.

"Hands behind your back," Tim says. "And don't close your fucking eyes. You're gonna be looking at me, okay? Sucking me off and looking at me. Being pathetic. Being pathetic on the floor where you belong. Fulfilling your fucking purpose."

"Fuck," Ginger says, gulping, his face pale with red spots on his cheeks. "Fuck, Tim, this is... it's a bit..."

"It's all fine," Tim says, but Ginger doesn't look convinced.

Tim sighs and sits on his heels in front of him.

"Jesus, Ginger," he says, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face. "I am not fucking implying anything by this arrangement and you know it. Fuck, I'll do the same for you tomorrow. And after tomorrow. I'll do it every fucking day for the next three weeks until you traitors leave me to rot alone. I'll be fucking ridiculous. Laughable. Okay?"

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, and his facial condition improves somewhat.

"Come on," Tim speaks again, wishing for even better results. "I'll shove my fingers down my throat right now and imagine it is your motherfucking cock. You can imagine that as well, by the way. You fucking know I am all for camaraderie. And coming like a moron."

Ginger laughs softly, and Tim pats his cheek, Ginger pressing his face into his palm.

"Okay," he says. "Sorry. You freak me out sometimes."

"Of course I do," Tim says, smiling and getting up. "Alright, enough with this bullshit. Suck my cock."

 

Tim keeps his promise, staring down at Ginger staring up at him, four of his fingers deep in his mouth, pulling it wide open, his other hand touching Ginger's lips, brushing against his own cock between them, fucking Ginger up with it as compensation for his levelheaded understanding of Ginger's weird fucking feelings of shame he's just shown there, Ginger moaning, his eyes first just black and then wet, his lips warm and soft under Tim's fingers, his mouth welcome on Tim's cock, his sensitive fucking nipples stimulated by clamps Tim sure as hell should have bought sooner, by clamps that are no doubt fucking him up as well, by clamps that are a good competition to Tim himself in that regard.

 _Dumb fucking squid_ , Tim thinks, winking at Ginger.

 _Dumb magical sea maiden_ , Tim thinks, coming in Ginger's mouth with four of his fingers deep in his own, most definitely imagining what he said he would be and some other things as well.

He waits several seconds for the thermonuclear fire to stop roaring in his ears, pulling his cock out of Ginger's mouth and pulling it open with his fingers, Ginger shivering there on the floor.

Then, when he feels he can smirk again, he pulls at the chain.

"Up," he says. "Let's go make you even more uncomfortable."

 

Some unmeasured due to minds being lost in nuclear explosion time and some mutual pitiful stumbling later Ginger is naked on the bed in front of him, sitting on his feet, knees spread wide, face white and red and wet, Tim's heartless fingers circling the tip of his cock, Tim's heartless fingers of Tim's other hand temporarily in Tim's mouth, gathering blood and saliva in there in order to fuck Ginger up some more and to fuck his hole as well.

He drops his hand between Ginger's thighs and rubs at his ass.

Ginger shakes.

"You okay?" Tim asks, deciding to show more of his unusual levelheaded understanding of weird fucking feelings of disgust, simultaneously pushing the fingers inside him to avoid being too fucking nice.

"Fuck," Ginger says, gasping. "I... I guess. I"ll tell you if I... You know..."

"Alright," Tim says, nodding. "Come on, fuck yourself a bit."

Ginger rocks his hips awkwardly, taking Tim up on his offer, moaning, Tim looking at his awesome swaying cock he can never get enough of and their awesome swaying chain connecting the clamps Tim really, really should have bought sooner, Ginger blushing furiously noticing Tim looking.

Tim chuckles.

"Pathetic fucking squid," he says, catching Ginger's cock between his fingers and rubbing at the tip. "Come on. I want more squirming. Open your fucking mouth. Pull the chain. Come like an idiot."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, not taking him up on his offers. On his _magnificent_ fucking offers.

"Come on," Tim insists. "I know you want to. You know you want to. Do it."

Ginger moans and shudders, his hips stumbling, his hole pulsing around Tim's fingers.

"Why do you always fucking do this to me?" he asks, his voice breaking, his face breaking as well.

"You know why," Tim says. "Because you let me. Because I want to because you do."

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Fuck, Tim. Gonna come."

"Yeah," Tim says, touching the tip of his cock lightly. "Come on. Mouth. Chain. Anything else you're fucking thinking about. Fucking trying to hide from me."

Ginger moans and shudders again, his hips stumbling, his hole pulsing around Tim's fingers, his mouth falling agape, his hand pulling the chain, his eyes black and wet, Tim watching him come like a beautiful fucking moron he is.

 

Fourteen billion years later Tim pulls Ginger's rotting corpse close, hugging him tight, and pulls at the chain as well.

"Fucking hell, Tim," Ginger says, still on the verge of tears.

"Don't pout," Tim says and takes one of the clamps off. "Come here. I'll suck your face and tell you I love you."

He puts the clamp on his own nipple, winking at Ginger.

Ginger laughs softly.

Tim tells him he loves him and sucks his face.

That takes another fourteen billion years.

 

They smoke, lying next to each other, Tim toying with the clamps, spinning them in the air, the chain wrapped around his finger, Ginger breathing into his neck, his tender tentacles wrapped around Tim's body.

"I am really fucking excited about John's fucking birthday party for once," Tim says.

 

Three days later John is really fucking excited about his birthday party as well.

 

***  
Impeccable suffering  
***

 

"What kind of a fucking question is that?" Tim says, squinting at John in indignation. "Of course I am fucking su—"

He doesn't get to finish his long string of insults, because John giggles and stuffs his mouth with his sexy underwear just like Tim was demanding of him.

John takes a step back, admiring his work, this nice more recent gagging addition and also the previous tying up he conducted while Tim was still able to give advice on how to make him really uncomfortable, and smirks knowingly, looking Tim in the eye, his partner in victimless crime.

Tim feels warm radioactive ocean foam filling up his chest.

There is a brief pause between John sitting down next to Ginger on the bed and them proceeding with their prolonged high blood glucose fucking, and Tim wonders there for a second, asking himself if they would just get up now and go to the other room, leaving him here tied to a chair, a human sized Bavarian sausage with a leaking cock and a plug up his ass, a sweet sneer full of teeth appearing on his inner warhead right after he thinks that.

They don't, though. They just start kissing and then almost immediately moaning into each other's mouths, Ginger running his increasingly gooey tender tentacles over John's marble skin, John's magical fingers enthusiastically playing tunes on Ginger's awesome cock as if it is his favorite motherfucking guitar and he himself is just a crazed shredding virtuoso. And they most definitely are.

Tim starts to feel truly abandoned after a few minutes, because the kissing bastards get really absorbed in one another, exchanging love confessions and unable to stop touching each other's bodies, both shivering and flushed, and he tries to alleviate his emotional pain by fucking himself on the plug and then failing spectacularly at that due to his own premonition skills he wisely applied to warn John against giving him such an opportunity when he was tying him up with his heavenly cruel hands.

Tim feels a hot dense mass rising up in his chest, reaching his throat and then getting stuck there, the exit obstructed by John's underwear. Tim feels like a really angry weapon of mass destruction that's being stopped by a child pressing a finger over its ugly nose. Tim feels pathetic. Tim feels like he's ready to call for help.

Then John whispers something into Ginger's ear and Ginger says 'of course', and John pushes him to lie on the bed on his back and slithers up his body, sitting up and spreading his cheeks with his hands over Ginger's face, Ginger starting to lick his hole, his sweaty body on display, his cock up in the air, his gulping throat arching and John's beautiful naked spine arching as well.

Tim feels like he's ready to beg for instant euthanasia.

Then fucking John opens his filthy mouth and starts producing his ass obliteration talk and wet breathy broken moans, pulling his cheeks wide open and rocking his hips slightly.

Then, if that wasn't enough, fucking Ginger lifts his shaking hands and pulls at his nipple with one of them and rubs at the tip of his cock with another, in a really, really familiar fashion.

Tim feels like he's already been slaughtered.

 _How fucking dare you_ , he thinks, choking on John's underwear and on radioactive blood that cannot escape out of his overheating body. _I am in the same fucking room._

Then he realizes he is the only one here who remembers that, plutonium imploding in his chest and tearing his inner universe apart.

Then John says he wants Ginger to fuck him, to fuck him hard, he wants to come on his cock, he wants Ginger more than anybody and loves him like nobody else, and they flip over, John throwing his flawless legs wide apart and Ginger falling awkwardly between them several seconds later, after lube's been applied, John moaning and hooking his arms under his knees, holding himself open, Ginger diving in and moving his hips, pulling John close, his sweaty hair sticking to his sweaty back with impossible fucking vertebrae, Tim watching them, his eyes wet, the image he looks at shaking in front of them, listening to the embarrassing drum beat the chair underneath him creates dancing on the floor, to the embarrassing drum beat only he can hear.

Ginger comes with John's name on his lips, sound coming out tender and affectionate, John cheering him on with his filthy moaning, Ginger sliding down after his orgasm is over like a steaming squid jelly and pressing his face between John's perfect cheeks and licking his ideal fucking hole, John jerking off with his magical fucking hand and arching his back, chanting Ginger's name in a continuous string of two syllables.

Tim shuts his eyes tight when John starts coming, howling like never before in his life, helpless in his ties, outcast and forsaken, denied all access to the ocean, a dead rotting carcass on the sand under the merciless sun, realizing nobody pays any attention to him or his sound production and almost fainting at that thought.

 

"Fuck, Tim," he hears Ginger's scared voice fourteen billion years of extreme misery later.

"Oh my God," he hears John's shocked one a second after that.

He starts breathing when four hands finally touch his neglected body, two of them landing on his thighs and two of them on his head, John taking his stiff furious cock in his whining mouth and Ginger pulling John's underwear out of his own dejected trap and replacing it with four of his fingers, Tim coming with a shameful sob, his body convulsing in the ties, hole clenching around the plug.

 

"I love you," Ginger says, breathing into his ear.

"We love you," John says, breathing into his other one.

"Shut up, you fucking murderers," Tim says, exhaling nuclear explosion gas and spitting out blood, two voices laughing at him and four hands hugging his tortured sausage of a body.

 

***  
Farewell  
***

 

Tim runs around the house one more time, checking every room, and then gives the keys to the owner.

"If you find anything and think it might be something important, you have my email address," he says. "And I apologize in advance if that's a dildo you find."

 

He gets into the car and they drive to the seaside. They stop in every town and eat so much herring Tim actually thinks there might not be any left in the entire country, John stuffing his face the most and still somehow disgusted by the whole concept and Ginger swinging the poor fish over his face and sticking his tongue out, making Tim's cock twitch. They turn on the radio in the car and dance right next to it like idiots after John finally settles on the station. They go to the beach. John and Ginger walk along the shore, barefoot, pants rolled up, holding hands and kissing, constantly talking as if they haven't seen each other for months, when the opposite is true, Tim just sitting on the sand, smoking and drinking beer, watching them with his chest tight, overwhelmed by different feelings, thinking he might not fucking survive the temporary parting that's ahead of them, thinking if he dies now he's going to die happy, because those two will have each other, thinking of all the pain he caused them and all the precious things he got in return, really wondering if he is even fucking allowed to be here.

"Hey," John says, landing next to him. "You promised us an awesome day together. Why are you so grumpy?"

Tim smiles at him and then looks at Ginger standing there, towering over him, at his scared fucking hands he clearly wants to put on Tim's horrible body.

"Just fucking amazed we're still together after everything I've done," he says, putting out his cigarette. "Never knowing when to stop and so on."

Ginger sits down and puts his stupid scared hand on his shoulder.

"Stop with the guilt," John says. "We're not gonna see you for fuck knows how long. Damn touring schedules. Ginger, grab his fucking arms."

Tim is about to ask what's going on, but then Ginger does grab his arms and John grabs his feet, and the bloody bastards run, carrying his horrible body over his really loud and really obnoxious protests, and throw him into the water, both laughing like mad and telling him to go bond with his toothy brothers and sisters, Tim getting up shortly and running after them as well, catching one after another and peforming the same procedure on them, but with some additional waterboarding.

The torture does wonders for his mood, so they run after one another for two more hours, throwing sticks and sand and occasional jellyfish at each other, Tim and John tickling Ginger until he starts howling so loud the scarce other visitors get really worried, Ginger giving piggyback rides to John and then Tim doing the same, because John asks, Tim getting buried in the sand by four hands not once, but twice, John giggling all the time and whispering Tim's so getting hard in there, and he is, Ginger going bright red upon discovering it.

They drive a bit further and stop in a deserted place, Tim putting up a tent on the beach, Ginger and John kissing and getting in the way. They have dinner, gorging on all the bullshit John bought for the occasion, and then John plays guitar for them, Ginger's head in Tim's lap the entire time, Tim's fingers combing the sand out of his hair.

"Sex," John says, yawning and putting his guitar away. "We need to have sex now before I collapse."

Tim chuckles, lifting Ginger's gooey body beaming with love and affection off himself, all three of them getting into the tent, John demanding things that are not possible in the tight confines of that space, pouting and then agreeing on another option, Ginger eating him out and Tim letting him fuck his face at the same time, coming boiling hot, moaning obscenely, and falling asleep seconds after he does, exhausted and full of herring.

"Come on," Tim says, taking Ginger's scared hand in his own. "Let our sweet whining idiot rest."

They drag one of the blankets out and throw it on the sand some meters away from the tent, sitting down next to one another, half naked and smoking.

"You hard?" Tim asks, putting out his cigarette.

Of course, Ginger is hard, so Tim pulls his wifebeater off him and kicks his own pants off himself, letting Ginger kiss him once, but for fourteen billion years, and then wrapping his hand around Ginger's cock and Ginger's hand around his own.

"Slap me," he says, when Ginger's eyes become opaque black holes on his pale face, clearly visible in the light of the full moon, squeezing his cock tighter than it is strictly necessary to add to the point. "Slap me for all the fucking misery I put you through."

Ginger moans and gently touches his bloodthirsty snout instead, a weak smile on his lips.

Tim chuckles.

"Come on," he urges him. "Slap me."

Ginger does, and the first blow is really light, so Tim tells him to do it again and again, and then finally his shaking hand lands on his face with considerable force. Tim jumps at the pain, his eyes watering, and grins, feeling the nuclear blossom filling his chest.

"You fucker," he says and slaps Ginger back, careless, putting all of his terrible heart into it, doing it over and over, without counting, until Ginger starts crying.

"Open your fucking mouth," Tim says then, pulling at his soft warm lips, shoving his fingers inside, looking at him and hoping the sight will never escape his memory even after fucking Alzheimer's catches up with him and punishes him for all the drugs he's been doing, grabbing Ginger's hand and sticking it into his own wide open trap, jerking Ginger off mercilessly, like he would do himself, Ginger's scared hand on his own cock stuttering and sweaty and hot and so welcome.

Ginger comes with a wail, tears running down his face, the black holes of his eyes full of awe and devotion Tim knows he's not allowed to have directed at himself, accepting them and clinging to them and ripping them out of Ginger nevertheless, Tim removing his hand from his cock and putting it over Ginger's on his own, jerking himself off, pushing into Ginger's helpless accommodating palm, the fingers of his other hand still touching Ginger's soft, warm lips Ginger keeps parted for him, Ginger's other hand brushing against his haunted snout with tenderness he cannot even begin to describe.

Ginger falls into his arms after Tim comes, soaking wet and shuddering, asking Tim to hold him, to not let him go, Tim doing exactly that.

"God, Ginger," he says, pulling him close and chuckling. "You're still shaking after all this time. Still cannot believe your fucking luck, ha?"

"Fuck off," Ginger says, laughing softly and hugging him.

They lie like that for some time, listening to each other's breath, the starry sky neither one of them pays any attention to shimmering above their moonstruck heads.

"That thing you said today..." Ginger says, whispering. "About us being together despite everything you've done. About you never knowing when to stop."

"Yeah?" Tim asks, shifting to look at him. "What about it?"

"I just thought, you know, that we're also together exactly because of that. Because you never know when to stop."

Tim hums, considering the idea.

"Maybe," he says in the end. "Come on, squid. Let's get back into our natural habitat."

 

They get up, leaving their sweet whining idiot to brighten up the insides of the tent on his own for a while longer.

They get up and run into the cold, dark, endless sea.


End file.
